


Burning Moon, Silent Embers

by woncarnation



Series: Moonlit Daydreams [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Wonwoo and Mingyu solving a murder mystery, both plot and character driven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:07:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woncarnation/pseuds/woncarnation
Summary: In which Mingyu and Wonwoo find each other amidst a tragedy, and discover they have more in common than what appears at first glance. The sun isn't complete without its moon, nor is a boat without its anchor. And Wonwoo—Wonwoo is a high Mingyu never wants to get down from, even amidst a crumbling kingdom.A story of discovery, loss, and finding a home.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Series: Moonlit Daydreams [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786369
Comments: 63
Kudos: 183





	1. audi, vide, tace

**Author's Note:**

> important notes!   
> \- please do heed the tags! they are there for a reason, there will be descriptions of blood, violence and injury.  
> \- rating is for some language, themes of violence, murder and death (background characters. nothing graphic).  
> \- this is a work of pure fiction and does not, in any way, shape, or form, reflect reality!
> 
> I wouldn't say this is a dark fic, but it does deal with some dark topics, not in detail. The world they live in is bleak and dark, but this story focuses more on them finding a home, a light amidst the hopelessness. Additional warnings for each chapter are in the notes, in case i miss some, please do let me know!
> 
> please enjoy ☀

The smell of blood is thick in the air, permeating between the cracks and crevices of the abandoned hut, diminishing the world into a quiet standstill.

Mingyu notes the scent is still fresh—it is more pungent than those he smelled before—and he attempts his best at keeping his steps quiet and breathing silent. He treads upstairs, the floorboards barely making a sound when it should have creaked under even the lightest weight upon it. The years of practice and even more years of having his life at stake has Mingyu forgoing such trivial yet fatal mistakes.

He can’t afford to make any. Not when he deals with creatures as elusive as the night sky, one look at the wrong direction and they are able to envelope you in the sweet, alluring illusion of cold death. Mingyu has had his fair share of fangs nearly grazing his carotids to tell that he is far more skilled than others in his field.

Some say he cheats, that him being alive is only due to the circumstances of his birth and nothing else. Others say the lack of scars to tell of his hunts prove Mingyu to be nothing but a spoiled man who has his work done for him. Both weren’t true, not entirely, but he prefers if the gossip surrounding him starts and stops at the second one.

Mingyu doesn’t care, doesn’t have the capacity to do so. All those chatter turns into white noise in the night, a form of distraction he abandons in the wake of his mediation.

Being an empty slate helps, Mingyu makes less mistakes that way. But even the most foolproof plans has their failings as well.

Mingyu halts at end of the stairs, allowing himself one last relaxed breath before he slips into a familiar state of readiness. His muscles are tense, a taut wire about to snap in two and send sparks of electricity flying in the air. The only constant is his heartbeat, slow and steady, keeping his nerves grounded.

Moonlight is streaming in the otherwise dreary hallway, coming from a room where the smell of iron is strongest. Mingyu opens and closes his palms once, twice, before rushing into the room.

Mingyu thinks he has seen enough to be prepared for anything, but believes are made to be proven wrong in this world and Mingyu freezes.

The pool of red on the floor is the least of Mingyu’s concern, but standing on it, pristine black shoes dipping in the liquid and staining red, is a man, no, a—

And Mingyu realises he’s stayed still for a second too long.

A blur of motion and Mingyu’s back slams on the wooden wall. A shudder vibrates throughout the whole hut. The hand encircled around his neck is ice cold, an immovable iron grip, and Mingyu thinks it as odd. His neck is obstructed this way.

Icy red pierces him, staring him down as if taunting Mingyu to provide a challenge. To claw and struggle. But Mingyu knows any form of resistance is futile.

“Aren’t you quite late, Mr. Hunter?” The creature asks, voice deep and somber.

Mingyu growls, baring teeth. “Well, you’re still here aren’t you?”

“Oh? How curious.” His red eyes glanced down before moving back up. “And yes, I am present. But I don’t see how a barehanded hunter is going to change anything, much less a captured one.”

Mingyu stays quiet, despises the truth in his words, but remains still. Not allowing himself to give in to the goading is key, so Mingyu opts to stare at the scarlet irises. They’re watching Mingyu intensely, scrutinising what is visible, and a ghost of something Mingyu doesn’t recognise swirls inside them.

“I see you’re not struggling. I’m not sure if you’re smart— ” The hand around Mingyu’s neck tightened. “Or a complete and utter fool.”

Mingyu has the urge to free himself by force, an instinctual reaction when his windpipe is constricted and he has trouble breathing. Yet the dull numbness growing inside Mingyu’s chest hollows him of any purpose, like it has done for a long time, and so Mingyu stays in place, body unmoving.

He doesn’t miss the flicker of horror passing through the man’s face.

“Do it, then,” Mingyu says with great struggle. “I know you’ll be relieved there’s one less of us roaming around, _vampire_.”

The pressure on his neck disappears and Mingyu knows he should move, attempt to keep his life and strike back, but he closes his eyes. A breeze of wind passes his face, carrying a heavy scent of roses, and Mingyu takes a deep breath, bracing for the inevitable.

But it never comes.

Mingyu blinks and the world slowly comes back into view. The vampire is crouching on the window, a position farthest from Mingyu, halfway in his escape. An unfathomable expression is creasing his face, the lines showing sadness as clear as the moon in a cloudless night sky. Mingyu forbids his mind to stray and wonder what it all means.

“You shouldn’t throw your life away that easily, hunter. It’s far too short and too precious for you to do so, especially yours.” He stares at Mingyu, then turns and jumps, dark coat fluttering in the wind.

It takes a while for Mingyu’s legs to regain their function, propelling him forward to the glassless window. His feet stomps over the puddle of blood, splattering the thick liquid on his trousers but Mingyu doesn’t care, mind muddled as he stares at the open field. There are no traces of the vampire, only the wind-rustled grass causing movement and sound.

Mingyu’s head pounds, heart following suit like a parade going through town, trampling through Mingyu’s being and ripping his seams apart. He breathes harshly through his teeth, forcing them to stay intact by sheer will, and Mingyu knows it is imperfect but he manages, he always do.

He contemplates on tracking the vampire, but a tug in the pit of his stomach tells him he isn’t the one Mingyu’s looking for. No murderer would say the words he said. No vampire would tell _Mingyu_ that.

Mingyu turns, ignoring the creeping void venturing down his chest.

The room is empty except for the jarring patch of red on the wooden floor, its edges already starting to crust and dry. Mingyu looks around, searching for signs of fighting, of a body being dragged, but he finds nothing. The killer is meticulous, careful enough to lure—or trick, Mingyu suspects—the noble lady to a hut in the middle of nowhere, conduct murder and disappear with the body. Perhaps hearing Mingyu’s steed beforehand.

A faint smell of water is present, but a small river is nearby and Mingyu deems it worthless to track. Mingyu pointedly ignores the rose-hued air intruding his sense and trudges back downstairs and out of the hut. The crisp air is a welcomed change.

His horse, Cheonji, is faithfully waiting a distance away, her chestnut fur glistening under the moonlight as she grazes the nearest patch of grass. Mingyu whistles, the sound sharp in the quiet wilderness and Cheonji trots over to him.

“I’m going to have to leave you in that nice stable just south of town next time.” Mingyu says, hand traveling down Cheonji’s neck.

Mingyu takes off his coat and puts it in the bag adjacent to Cheonji’s saddle before heaving himself up. A nudge from his left leg and they are off, galloping through the dirt path towards the town in the distance, lighting up the dark horizon like a lighthouse beaconing travellers in.

It’s cold, Mingyu can tell by the puffs of air Cheonji is emitting but even so, his vein runs as if it’s alight.

He needs to warn the king, tell him of the impending massacre that awaits the town.

☽

“Your Majesty, I’ve found her— “

“Please spare me the details, I’ve had enough to deal with today and I have no need of recurring nightmares from your tale.” The king sighs, dignity ebbing away from his being. He has his eyes covered with his hands, body leaning forward in his throne yet refusing to spare a glance at Mingyu. “Tell me, hunter, what do you propose?”

King Hyuk’s voice echoes in the vast great hall of the palace, thundering inside Mingyu’s head from how loud it is. The candles flicker, casting swaying shadows on the stone walls, wordlessly witnessing their exchange.

“If you’re willing to trust me, and it’s in your best interest that you do, then I’d ask you to let me do my job,” Mingyu says, eyes transfixed on the King’s slouched form. “I ask of no interference nor restrictions, aid is welcome but only by my discretion.”

Mingyu doesn’t particularly care about formalities, not when it’s directed to someone who’s unfit to be king, but the tensing of King Hyuk’s shoulders sent a coldness down his spine. But Mingyu persists. He keeps his countenance as it usually is; a passive indifference, a craft he mastered for more than a decade.

The king bolts upward, taking arrogant strides towards Mingyu. He’s noticeably shorter than Mingyu, but his stance and aura is assiduous, an astute display of authority. Mingyu ought to be intimated by the man standing in front of him, but he peers down at the king, undaunted.

“Your kind isn’t unwelcome here, hunter, you lot do provide necessary services. But you,” he says, circling Mingyu and gesturing harshly at Mingyu’s whole being. “For you to roam my capitol and do as you please without supervision? Ridiculous. I know who you are, Kim Mingyu.”

“Then you know what I’m capable of.”

The king laughs behind him, venomous. “Oh, I do. I’m well versed in your various…feats, and I must say I’m impressed. For one person to be capable of such brutal deeds, you can’t blame me for being afraid, can you?”

“Your people are in danger.” Mingyu turns, facing the king. “I’ve seen how this vampire works, it’s careful, it’s going to strike again and you’ll have no way to deal with it.”

“I’m well aware. My guards will catch the beast sooner or later, we don’t need you.”

A twinge of annoyance ticks in Mingyu’s brain but he doesn’t show it. He keeps his reaction minuscule—he curls his fingers tightly, but with not enough force for his nails to break through his leather gloves.

“At what cost? How many lives are you willing to lose before that?”

Hyuk lowers his eyebrows, holding Mingyu in a glare. Mingyu doesn’t bother to address him as king anymore, not even inside of his head.

“That’s none of your concern— “

“A king without his people is nothing but a man.”

Hyuk’s breath hitches, body going stiff. He steps forward, getting close enough that Mingyu could feel his body heat radiating in small waves. Mingyu smells anger, a sliver of fear and after a moment of what probably is Mingyu’s most intense staring, resignation. Hyuk turns around, heading back to sit on his throne, the tension never leaving his body.

“Chan.” Hyuk claps his hands. A door opens and from it emerges a man who bows immediately upon entering the room. “Please escort this _fine_ hunter here to the war room, and call the captain.”

Chan bows once more, and leads Mingyu out of the great hall through the long, winding corridors of the palace, each new corner presenting Mingyu with the sensation of suffocating under misery, hidden under layers of stone. They stop in front of a room, the double mahogany doors are imposing, they groan when opened and Mingyu wonders how rarely the room is used.

“The captain will be with you in a minute,” Chan says, but doesn’t leave the room.

Mingyu nods in response, eyes roaming the war room.

“Thank you, mister hunter,” Chan says, voice small and hesitant. Mingyu turns back to face him, head cocked. “I heard your conversation with the king, so thank you. Going against his majesty like that for us…you’re a good man.”

“I’m the farthest thing from a good man. I’m merely choosing what I feel is right, the lesser evil. Better the vampire’s bloody head on my hands than your people’s.”

Chan visibly stiffens, and Mingyu glances away. It’s better this way, he thinks, Chan doesn’t deserve to be deceived. With one final bow, Chan leaves the room, dread and haste in his steps.

Mingyu resumes his observation of the room; It’s spacious, walls lined with various armours and weaponry, dark wooden shelves tucked in the far wall filled to the brim with books and parchments, and several flags with the kingdom’s insignia hang from the ceiling. In the middle stands a square oak table, the map of Karrea engraved on its surface. Mingyu traces his hand over the map, over the mountains in the North to the treacherous seas in the East before stopping at the centre.

There, in the centre of it all, is Sol. As if living up to its name, Sol is the core of Karrea, the other towns and regions surrounding it akin to planets orbiting the sun.

It certainly has the potential to be as incandescent as the sun, but not now, not under Hyuk’s rule.

Time passes until Mingyu hears the captain coming, his footsteps echo reverberate with sureness, and Mingyu isn’t startled when he talks without warning.

“A magnificent piece of work isn’t it?”

Mingyu glances up, “It is. Lee Jihoon knows how to work with wood; you would think he’s a wood elf for his proficiency with them.”

“Ah, so you know of him.” The captain moves forward, joining Mingyu in admiring the table. “You must know who I am, but I’m Seungcheol, head of Sol’s guards.”

“Pleasure.”

If Seungcheol is bothered by Mingyu’s curt reply, he doesn’t show it.

Seungcheol raps the table with his knuckle, repeating the movement several times. It’s only after a moment of contemplating, his thoughts churning so loudly that Mingyu practically hears them, that he speaks.

“Jihoon’s able to craft a map with such thorough details only due to his travels, certainly,” His right hand hovers above the table, travelling through the regions along with his words. “Long, treacherous travels where he was able to roam Karrea without fear of time, or any permanent injuries.”

Alarm trickles down Mingyu’s spine, slow but rapid enough for Mingyu to grow wary of Seungcheol. Shoulders tensed, Mingyu doesn’t bother hiding his state of unease.

“Don’t fret, he’s a close friend of mine. I know all about him,” Seungcheol says, a ghost of a smile forming on his face. “What I’m saying is, Mingyu, I trust you.”

Mingyu has the urge to laugh. He doesn’t know what Seungcheol’s words are worth. “Such a weighted statement for someone you just met, captain.”

“Perhaps, but…” Seungcheol walks over to the far wall, hands skimming over the books, “you will have to trust me too, Mingyu, the way the people blindly trusts the king.”

Mingyu hums, “And what gave you the idea that I’d do such a thing? Do you think me as gullible as them?”

“No, but a certain someone told me you’re an excellent judge of character.”

“The line between confidence and arrogant is thin in you, I see.”

Seungcheol sighs, facing Mingyu. “I merely want the best for the people, and I know you do too. Both me and my guards won’t get in your way, and I’ll help you if you require it.”

Mingyu quiets down, hands tapping the masterfully crafted table. Mulling over this matter would only be a waste of time, Mingyu figures, and surely Seungcheol has more important things to worry about. Dying by Mingyu’s hands certainly not one of them, if he ever decides to deceive him.

“I concede then, captain. I must admit this is quite tiring,” Mingyu says, gesturing between the both of them. “Forgive me for being so prejudiced, since your king was quite indignant on letting his people be slaughtered like sacrificial lambs.”

A furrow settles in Seungcheol’s face, shadows of something bitter and livid passing through before disappearing. His hands shake, barely visible but Mingyu notices—he always does.

“You’re right, it’s tiring and not to mention late. Let’s continue this in the morning, preferably over breakfast.” Seungcheol crosses the threshold until he’s out the door, motioning Mingyu to follow. “You’re welcome to stay the night in the guard’s quarters. I’ll show you to your room.”

Mingyu ambles behind Seungcheol, having dropped his guard at the captain’s words. And if Mingyu was honest with himself, it has been a long day, and a mattress—even a cold and stiff one—is more than he could ask for.

As soon as they arrive, Seungcheol bids him good night, promising he’ll show Mingyu to breakfast in the morning and leaving Mingyu to his own devices.

The lone bed in the corner beckons Mingyu to let himself rest.

Taking off all his gear feels like stripping himself bare. He starts with his outer coat and gloves, and then his boots, crusted with dried blood that has Mingyu grimacing. Mingyu will have to clean it up later.

Dressed in only his tan-coloured garb and trousers, Mingyu settles down in the middle of the bed, leg crossed and hands settled comfortably above his thighs. His mind dips, the buzzing and jumbled thoughts ebbing away and morphing into a stream, flowing constantly, an uninterrupted river of cerebration.

Meditation has always been a pivotal part in Mingyu’s life. It allows him to alleviate all his burdens, to wipe himself clean. The capability of compartmentalising his memories to conceal the parts that held him back has been honed through years and years of Mingyu reliving the torturous events in his filed of work as nightmares. Only for him to realise that he’s such an inconsequential existence in the grand scheme of things.

For all that he couldn’t control in the world, Mingyu finds solace in the fact that he’s in full control of his own psyche. But Mingyu must be a fool to think as such.

A flash of red and the river ripples.

It happens again, the current spiralling out of balance, Mingyu’s own headspace disrupted.

Mingyu frowns, hands tightening. He has faced distracting thoughts before, the things he has seen made it impossible not to have them but this—

He couldn’t get him out of his mind.

Mingyu was a few hours in his sleep when he blinked awake to the sound of fluttering wings near his window.

The crow is staring at him, black beady eyes unblinking. Mingyu has half a mind to get rid of it, but its eyes are knowing, and the smell of roses—Mingyu wouldn’t be able to ignore it even if he tries to.

“You’re his, aren’t you?” He asks, sitting up.

Crow caws, the sound far too shrill this early in the morning, jolting Mingyu even more alert. It’s perched on the window, black feathers blending in with the dark sky behind it. Perhaps it was due to his recurring appearance in Mingyu’s meditation that drew Crow here.

“Why did he send you?” He tries again.

It must sound ridiculous, talking to a bird like this, but like any familiar, Crow has been imbued with magic. In the simplest terms, it was an extension of its master, whom Mingyu is pretty sure he knows. The way it watches Mingyu so intently is a give-away, if not any, and when Crow jumps towards him, he could feel a faint hum of magic emitting from it.

Mingyu senses no malicious intention, and so he extends his hand, allowing Crow to perch on his forearm. Then, as if hearing Mingyu’s thoughts, and finding the most violent way to prove him wrong, Crow bites Mingyu’s thumb.

Blood starts trickling from the small, open wound and Mingyu moves before it could stain the sheets. Crow follows him, winds flapping and much to Mingyu’s horror, drinks the blood from Mingyu’s thumb with its dark beaks.

At once, Mingyu falls. He’s lost control of his head, plummeting down a trench, down and down—

And at the bottom of it, the image a vivid contrast against the darkness, is a man.

He’s starring at the starless sky, back turned against Mingyu. His slender frame is illuminated by the moon, graceful shadows cascading around him. In a moment of desperation, to try and regain control, Mingyu reaches out and the man turns, red eyes flashing wide. He’s seen Mingyu, he sees Mingyu and his mouth moves.

_Wonwoo._

Mingyu is back on the floor, head spinning and stars in his vision. He moves, sitting up and cradling his head in his hands. An hour has probably passed, perhaps only inside his head, when Mingyu finally has the strength to pull his head up, blinking away the white noise impeding his body. The wound on his finger is perfectly healed, gone without trace.

“Wonwoo?” Mingyu says, the name foreign on his tongue. He glances at crow, perching on the frame of the bed. “Wonwoo. Is that your master’s name?”

_“Yes.”_

Crow’s voice is high-pitched, a ladylike quality in it and Mingyu hears it inside his head. For Crow’s beak did not move an inch.

His stomach dives. “Are we…?”

 _“No, you don’t have to worry, hunter.”_ Crow blinks languidly at Mingyu. _“It’s temporary, it’ll be gone by tomorrow. Or when I will it to be.”_

Relief floods through Mingyu, he certainly doesn’t want to be tied down by a blood contract now, nor anytime in the future. It’s for the sake of hunting vampires—he’d be more susceptible to more tricks if he were bound by one.

_“My master offers his sincerest apology.”_

Mingyu snorts, “For nearly strangling me to death?”

Crow bows, the movement beyond curtsey for an animal. _“He deeply regrets it, but I am pleased to see that you’re intact, hunter.”_

“It’s Mingyu,” he says, before realising with a smudge of dread that he just offered his name to a vampire. Well—its familiar, but it’s the same nonetheless. “And I heal fast, your master did not hold back. If it was someone else, they’d have trouble breathing for the rest of their lives.”

_“Again, he’s sorry. He’d like to converse with you in person.”_

Mingyu stands, walking over to the water basin on the dresser to give himself a much needed splash of cold water. An invitation to meet a vampire is an invitation to death, if Mingyu had ever received one, and Mingyu wrings his hand, suddenly intrigued. He’d like to meet Wonwoo, he realises.

Crow proves herself to be impatient. She flies and lands on Mingyu’s shoulder, snuggling his neck, right where her master had circled his hands around. Mingyu shivers, finding the gesture comforting.

_“He knows you’re wary, and it’s only logical for you to be, but it is his wish to talk. Your task may turn far easier with his assistance.”_

The candles in the room flicker, and Mingyu steps out of whatever trance he fell into. It feels like he’s growing placid, unguarded and vulnerable. The walls are constructing themselves again, Mingyu doesn’t know when they disappeared—perhaps right after his conversation with Seungcheol—but they’re back in place with an ease that was unnerving.

Crow all but notices, and she grips Mingyu’s shoulder, claws sinking into flesh, readying herself for flight. She doesn’t quite leave yet, returning to her original position on the window.

Mingyu intents on letting her disappear without even an ounce of his acknowledgement. The stone walls has an interesting pattern if you look close enough.

“I’m sorry, Mingyu.”

It isn’t her voice. Mingyu spins, the motion pulling a muscle in his neck, and he expects to see something different but it’s just Crow, her eyes glazed over and posture rigid.

Hearing his name in that rich, velvety voice sent a jab right through Mingyu’s chest, west of his sternum. It’s a spell, Mingyu reasons, the erratic beating of his heart is due to a spell. It has never done this before, and Mingyu was sure it was impossible for his heart to do so.

“This…rogue vampire you’re hunting, I wish to help you.”

“Why? So you could reign over your feeding territory in peace?” Mingyu has asked a lot of questions today, but he doesn’t find it in him to be concerned.

“I understand how you feel,” Wonwoo says, and Mingyu has the feeling he wasn’t referring to what’s currently transpiring between them. “You might not want to at the moment, or even for eternity, perhaps. But my wish, no, my offer for you will remain open, always.”

Mingyu’s heart palpitates, the sound filling the muteness of the room.

“How do I find you?” Mingyu finds himself asking.

“I’ll be there.”

Mingyu has no idea what Wonwoo plans to do, nor what his own words weigh in the future. But before Mingyu could rebuke what seems to be his willingness to meet with Wonwoo, Crow disappears. Her body disperses into black mist, blending into the sky and leaving Mingyu alone once more.

Mingyu questions if everything was nothing but a dream.

☽

The town’s central square bustles with people during the day. Even with the sun battering down the town with remarkable heat, rays stinging on exposed skin and air hot enough for clothes to stick, people aren’t deterred when fun is concerned.

It’s only three hours past noon, but Mingyu spots several bottles of ale already half-empty, people dancing rather precariously on top of tables and even a group of them circling each other in a horrible attempt of re-enacting the great battle of Karrea.

Mingyu has done a decent job avoiding Sol in all his years, disliking the capitol for various reasons. He has no idea the people are so lively.

“Are the people always this…careless?”

Seungcheol, exhibiting the exact opposite of Mingyu’s confusion, is unfazed. They’ve been strolling through the town since noon, and although Mingyu doubts any attack would happen during daylight, familiarising himself with the layout of Sol is an added advantage to his arsenal. The vampire’s been quiet for the past few days, anyway.

“Most of the time, yes,” Seungcheol replies, eyes flickering to the throngs of people at the square. “But the royal banquet is near, and people tend to get excited for that.”

“The royal banquet?”

“It’s a bi-annual masquerade party. Overly exaggerated, in my opinion. Merely another sumptuous gathering where the rich can show the poor just how rich they are.”

Mingyu hums, keeping in pace with Seungcheol. “I see. They have a knack for that, the rich.”

“But food and alcohol runs throughout the whole city on those nights, and well, who can complain when free food is involved.” Seungcheol laughs, eyes crinkling.

The people cheered at seemingly nothing, and the music only gets louder, spurring on the dancing and laughing.

Mingyu’s eyes move pass the square, up into the stone buildings watching over the people. He finds beady black eyes staring back at him, vigilant. Crow is perched on the roof, and when Mingyu spots her, she vanishes in a flutter of dark feathers and smoke.

She’s always there, Mingyu’s gaze constantly finding her wherever he goes. It should have made Mingyu leery, ever the watchful eye that Crow is, observing his every move like a hawk waiting on its prey. The presence of eyes on his back, the tingling sensation, should have bothered Mingyu—but it doesn’t.

Seungcheol calls for Mingyu, and he turns, ignoring his thoughts about Crow.

They both strolled pass the local tavern for the second time that day, and after Seungcheol deems it enough, they parted ways. Mingyu advices Seungcheol and all of his guards to be on alert. Suspicious activities, late-night excursions, covert meetings—anything that lead to potential murder.

Mingyu had been hesitant at first, but Seungcheol, true to his previous words, has been nothing but accommodating. His guards had stayed out of Mingyu’s way and more than anything, they’ve been quite adept at gathering information in a wider scoop.

One of them is hanging about the tavern, face flushed from what Mingyu assumes is alcohol, voice loud as he boasts about whatever deeds he’s accomplished. Mingyu considers telling Seungcheol but falters; it’s none of his business.

He pushes past the main area of the tavern, passes the lady that owns the shop with a small smile, and up the stairs. Small as it is, the room the tavern offers is enough for Mingyu, being free from the suffocating walls of the palace is a welcomed reprieve.

The rooftop from where he could climb to from the window is just another unforeseen perk.

Mingyu opts for meditating on the roof after taking off his coat. He climbs with ease, padding over the steep protruding parts of the wall, over the edge of the roof and unto the rooftop.

Wind rustles his face as he sat down, sending contentment and sereneness through Mingyu. He closes his eyes, the image of the town under the glow of the sunset imprinted in his darkened vision.

Time passes curiously whenever Mingyu enters this state; it could pass slowly, letting Mingyu excruciatingly relive whatever atrocities he faced, or on rare, decent nights like these, Mingyu would be too lost in the river that time becomes an unknown concept to him.

Mingyu doesn’t know how much time has passed when a gust of wind drifts around him.

He smells him first before seeing him. The unmistakeable smell of roses, enclosing him, embracing him.

The moon is hanging in the sky when Mingyu finally opens his eyes, full and bright, casting down light on the world. Moonlight always manages to make even the barest of things look ethereal, and the town bathed in it is nothing short of something you would see in a painting by the most proficient artist.

It’s to his great amazement that Mingyu doesn’t find his eyes straying from the figure in front of him. He’s clad in all black, the ends of his long coat swaying softly with the wind. Mingyu couldn’t see his face, not when he’s facing away from him, but his stance, sure and composed, offers enough information.

Mingyu remembers the small silver dagger in his pockets, contemplates reaching for it, but his hands refused to move. Yet he stands, the movement soundless but surely not escaping the vampire in front of him.

Wonwoo turns, facing Mingyu, motion graceful and impossibly sylphlike that Mingyu has a hard time believing he was a monster that sucked blood for a living. Mingyu sees red, but it isn’t unkind, instead it regards Mingyu in a kind, melancholic gaze.

“Forgive me, Mingyu. It seems like impatience has gotten the best of me.” Wonwoo dips his head, moving from the edge and closer to Mingyu.

Mingyu is at a loss for words, body rigid as he watches Wonwoo stand in front of him.

“I’m not here to impose on you,” Wonwoo says, hands tight behind his back. “It’s the vampire from before, I’m sure it’s been in the back of everyone’s minds. And I stand true to what I said, I want to help you.”

“Why would you want to help me?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I don’t have any ulterior motives?” Wonwoo smiles, tight and bitter.

“I don’t have a reason to believe that you don’t.”

Wonwoo steps forward, hands hesitating above Mingyu’s shoulder. His eyes flicker to Mingyu’s, and when Mingyu doesn’t move, he puts his hands down. It’s the softest of touches, barely any pressure, and Mingyu’s heart rears.

“That’s true, and I’m not going to say I’m a good person, but I can tell that you are, Mingyu. I won’t let it take you, or lay waste to this city.”

A forlorn look presents itself on Wonwoo’s face as he stares at the city. His touch is cold, but his countenance is earnest, warm as a myriad of colours from candles and windows reflect in his eyes.

For a moment they stayed that way, Mingyu content on observing Wonwoo, not having the chance to do so before. Staring like this, Mingyu could see the softness surrounding Wonwoo, saturating him with inexplicable delicacy, a contrast to his sharp, otherworldly features.

Wonwoo focuses back on Mingyu, hand travelling from Mingyu’s shoulder to his neck, hovering over it, over where Mingyu could still feel his hand enclosed around it. Remorse, guilt— Wonwoo’s face displays his emotions so unabashedly.

Mingyu grabs Wonwoo’s hand, removing it from his shoulder, afraid of the beating in his chest. “Shouldn’t you be afraid of me? I hunt your kind for a living.”

Mingyu’s grip must be crushing but Wonwoo’s hand is soft against his calloused one, and Wonwoo doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t move an inch.

“I can ask the exact same thing to you, Mingyu.” Wonwoo tilts his head at Mingyu, smile stretching his lips until his elongated canines are visible, as if to prove a point. “Shouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I’m…I’m not,” Mingyu says, and it’s the truth. Mingyu senses no fear in his system, only anticipation of what’s to come.

“I guess I should say you’re quite foolish for that, but is it bad to say that I’m glad?”

_Yes._

Mingyu’s hand stutters, letting Wonwoo’s slip out of his grip. Everything feels wrong; being vulnerable like this, letting Wonwoo wrack his being apart from simply a touch, a glance. But Wonwoo, Wonwoo makes it feel right.

With a shake of his head, Mingyu snaps out of his stupor, steeling himself and ridding himself of his wayward emotions.

“The vampire,” Mingyu says, taking a pointed step backwards, “it’s taking over your hunting grounds, isn’t it? Is that why you want to help?”

Mingyu chooses to ignore the anguish on Wonwoo’s face. It’s gone before Mingyu could try to comprehend it, anyway.

“Oh Mingyu,” Wonwoo says, taking a step backwards himself, causing an involuntary twinge in Mingyu’s chest, “I wouldn’t offer my help for such petty reasons. I’ve lived in abstinence for years.”

Mingyu almost gapes. “Abstinence? You don’t drink blood at all?”

Wonwoo shakes his head, and stares at the ground, as if recalling some respiteful memories. “No, I don’t.”

It’s unheard of; Mingyu has never heard tales of vampire choosing to be abstinent, let alone survive from the lack of blood.

The wind howls, and Mingyu swears Wonwoo is nearly translucent. He’s something corporeal, painfully beautiful yet barely there, swaying in the wind, not in control of his existence but merely accepting what the world does to him.

Every vampire Mingyu has met were menaces, a physical embodiment of terror and raw power, feasting on humans with not a hint of remorse. All Mingyu remembers from each of them is the chill, the electric might exuding from their beings. Wonwoo has none of that.

“How are you alive?” Mingyu asks with a breath.

“We don’t need to drink to stay alive.” Wonwoo moves again, his coldness ghosting on Mingyu’s skin. “Blood is more like alcohol, if anything; it gives you unimaginable strength and prowess, yet it consumes you, drags you into addiction, into madness. You surely must know about this, Mingyu.”

The rate with which dread engulfs Mingyu is fast, faster than Mingyu could realise his wall are gone again. Wonwoo knows, he’s seen Mingyu before.

“I don’t, I’ve never— “

A scream pierces the air, abruptly ending their conversation.

Mingyu’s heart dips back into its steady rhythm, he sprints, moving for the edge to climb down. He passes Wonwoo, who nods at him before disappearing in a wisp of smoke, a silent promise of going ahead, of fulfilling his promise. 

Mingyu just has to trust Wonwoo. And hell, he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my love for vampires and dark fantasy AUs has to take some sort of form so here it is! comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading ♥
> 
> i've made a [twitter](https://twitter.com/9yuwoo?s=20) specifically for this fic, scream at me if you want to!


	2. aegri somnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _;nightmares_
> 
> —
> 
> a could touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> description of blood and injury ahead!

By the time Mingyu arrived at the scene, he knew he was far too late.

There’s a limit to how fast Mingyu could run, and he’s never hated it more than right now. Despite his protesting legs, which by itself is a rare occurrence, the murder is unsalvageable, the tears already lost, another soul slipping through Mingyu’s clutch.

Mingyu traverses the lavish house, up to the third floor where Mingyu sees the family huddled around one door, silent as they lay witness to the curtains swaying due to the wind coming in from the broken window, eyes refusing to stray to the body on the floor. Tears are long past forgotten as they grip each other for dear life.

One jumps at Mingyu intruding—the daughter, Mingyu presumes—but makes no move to stop him. With nothing left for him to fight for, Mingyu kneels down before the body, closing her lifeless eyes and offering a small incantation.

Rushed footsteps echo through the stairs, and Seungcheol skittered to a stop behind the family, eyes wide and frantic. Much to Mingyu’s relief, he ushers the family to go downstairs. It leaves room for Mingyu to do his job peacefully, without interruption. No sane person would approve of their deceased family member to be inspected, not this soon.

Her neck is covered in blood, the main cause of her most unfortunate death. It’s gruesome, and Mingyu doesn’t blame the family for not wanting to look. Mingyu grimaces, hoping it was at least a quick one. For the pain to pass in such a way must be unbearable.

The vampire’s visibly less cautious with this one, as if rushed, chased by something. Perhaps it was someone discovering it on its act, causing it to escape like a skittish mouse, breaking the window in the process.

“Mingyu,” it’s Seungcheol, having rushed back up, “is she…?”

Mingyu stands after his eyes finished scanning, not discovering anything of importance on the victim’s body. He motions Seungcheol over, wordlessly telling him to check for himself, even when he knows Seungcheol is well aware of the answer to his own question.

“Lords bless her.” Seungcheol does a slight bow, paying respect. His eyes are oddly teary. “May she rest in peace.”

“Do you know her?” Mingyu goes for the broken window, inspecting the glass and searching for a scent he could track.

“Unfortunately, yes, yes I do. She’s—was—the fair lady of Inchra, owns the land,” Seungcheol says, lips downturned. “She was very lovely, even if the king keeps insisting that she’s a vixen whose sole purpose is to steal the throne.”

A smidgen of blood shines in the remains of the hued glass, and Mingyu smells a faint scent, leading up into the night air. Futile as it is, Mingyu could only hope Wonwoo is apprehending the vampire, or better yet, in the middle of disposing the beast.

“Odd, didn’t know the king’s such a foul-mouthed person.”

Seungcheol laughs, despite the situation. “He’s a lot of things, but a good king isn’t one of them. Now, how are we going to catch this vampire?”

Seungcheol’s distaste for the king is palpable from the very first moment they met in the war room. Perhaps Mingyu is a person Seungcheol deems far from the kingdom’s politics, an outsider, someone he could express his dislike for the man he’s serving freely with.

“It’s my fault,” Mingyu says, clenching his fist, this time drawing blood since he rushed without putting his gear. The slight pang of pain and the feel of blood trickling down his palms are welcomed. A morbid form of distraction, if anything. “I should’ve been on alert or chase the vampire immediately. I’ve been too lenient.”

“No, Mingyu. Nobody could’ve predicted this, you’re just a human.” Seungcheol put firm hands on Mingyu’s shoulders, squeezing in assurance. Or at least he attempted to, before his hands loosened as he realises his mistake. “Well, perhaps not, but Mingyu it’s not your fault. If anything, it’s mine too.”

A weighted breath leaves Mingyu’s mouth, as he closes his eyes. “Seungcheol…I’m going to go and track him.”

“Unarmed?” Seungcheol’s hisses, hands tightening again to keep Mingyu here. “I know you’re capable but Mingyu, don’t be foolish. It would be a bigger detriment if we were to lose you.”

“I’ve been called that a lot lately. Foolish.” A chuckle filled with humour in spite of the situation slips from his mouth. “At least let this _fool_ catch this wretched beast, before it gets farther away.”

“Isn’t it too late then?”

It is. Mingyu knows the vampire is sly, probably erasing his trace somewhere so nobody could track him. But Mingyu has to do something, _needs_ to do something before his hand lashes out and does something he will regret. He needs to fill it. He needs to get rid of the numbness, needs to fill the vast emptiness.

Mingyu grits his teeth, jerking away from Seungcheol, gaze straight on the door.

“Mingyu— “

Seungcheol gasps, and Mingyu only hears the sound of a sword being unsheathed before he catches sight of what’s going on.

Blood is dripping steadily, soiling the already red wood floor with an even greater amount of the thick liquid. Seungcheol’s sword is embedded in Wonwoo’s hand. Wonwoo must’ve stopped the swing, gripping the blade with trembling fingers.

Wonwoo looks battered, hair and clothes a far-cry from what Mingyu has seen of him earlier, the front of his dress shirt stained a deep red. Five small holes punctured deep, right in the middle of his stomach. An unequivocal wave of worry crashes over Mingyu.

Wonwoo lets go of Seungcheol’s sword—a bad move since Seungcheol attempts to swing at him once more. The swing is meant to kill, and Mingyu lunges.

It hits, deep and precise. The sword clatters on the floor, Seungcheol horrified at what he did.

“Mingyu? What?” Seungcheol says, retreating. “Why?”

Mingyu sways, the fresh wound on his left side burning and he realises with dread that Seungcheol’s sword has been imbued with silver. Cold hands steady him at the waist, firm and secure and delicate. The world is turning bleary but Mingyu feels safe, protected.

“It’s fine, captain,” Mingyu says, clutching his bleeding side. “This is Wonwoo, he’s with me.”

Seungcheol’s eyes flicker to the vampire holding Mingyu, wary, but he ignores Wonwoo when Mingyu attempts to stand and stumbles, his hands coming to support him along with Wonwoo’s.

“Oh gods,” Seungcheol’s hands tremble, “Mingyu, I—I’m terribly sorry.”

Mingyu shakes the hands off of him, coming to stand on his own terms with an arm against the wall. “All’s good, it’s just a small scratch.”

“That’s not a small scratch, _fuck!_ ”

The world spins, Mingyu’s side throbbing with searing heat, and he finds it difficult to form words. It’s with great fervour that Mingyu wills his body to not give in to the lull of numbness awaiting for him.

“What’s happening to him?”

Hearing Seungcheol in such unrestrained distress has Mingyu glad. In the very least, someone worries about him.

“Your sword’s silver, correct?” Wonwoo’s voice is calm, hiding a storm beneath it, sending chills down Mingyu’s spine even when the question isn’t directed to him.

“Yes, it’s silver, how does that affect anything—oh.”

Wonwoo sighs. “I see you’ve come to realise your grave mistake. It’s the shock, he’s never been wounded by silver before, I’m assuming.”

Seungcheol gulps audibly, and though Mingyu couldn’t see all that well anymore, the defeat in the captain’s stature is unmistakable. He slinks back, horrified.

“Both of you are exaggerating, I’m perfectly fine,” Mingyu groans, the incessant buzz of conversation hurting his head.

With a swift motion, he’s off of the wall, managing to take a step forward. He achieves a grand total two steps before his abdominal muscles are pulled, and in turn, pulling his wound.

Mingyu lets himself fall, not discovering the strength to uphold himself. But he forgets, perhaps on purpose, that Wonwoo is there, willing to catch him. His touch is poison, sending Mingyu’s heart hammering and he’d rather bathe in the bloody floor than dealing with it.

“We have to treat him, let me take him to the palace physician,” Seungcheol says, desperate. “Let me take him, please.”

“No.” Wonwoo’s tone leaves no room for an argument.

“What?”

“I don’t trust your measly mortal physicians. There’s no telling what they’ll do to him.” Wonwoo’s hand tightened around Mingyu’s abdomen, careful not to pressure the wound.

“And I’m supposed to trust you, a bloodsucking _demon_?”

A sharp intake of breath and Mingyu fears for Seungcheol’s life. The anger radiating from Wonwoo’s body is tangible, a stark contrast to his stone-cold body.

Anger defeats logic, so does panic and guilt. Seungcheol is supposed close friends with Jihoon, he’s willing to understand vampires more than any other, to look past the bloodlust. Mingyu figures it’s the mistake, all the blood, and his gushing wound getting to Seungcheol’s mind.

“Don’t,” Mingyu says, a breath, voice below a whisper.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Wonwoo says, head tilted to Mingyu. The words are more a silent exchange between them as they made sure Seungcheol isn’t privy to them. He squeezes, then turns his head back to face Seungcheol. “Take it how you will, captain. I know better than anyone how biased your kind can be.”

Mingyu expects the captain to fight back, pulling dozens of excuses to argue, but he doesn’t. Seungcheol remains silent, words gone along with his authority.

The pounding in Mingyu’s head turns soporific, beckoning Mingyu to give in, to let go of his consciousness. And he does.

☽

Mingyu scarcely dreams. For all his insignificant life, they’ve done more harm than they did good. Countless memories, lies and deceit; things he left in the far crevices of his mind. Things he’d rather not face when he braves the horrors of human frailty everyday.

But at times, when Mingyu lays still at night, when his body and mind find themselves idle, they come uninvited. Slithering through Mingyu’s walls with unsolicited haste.

They always start off wondrous. Paintings of inexplicable joy. Mingyu would be bathing in the sun, soft grass tickling his face, the sun kissing his skin and he’d be smiling. Lips stretching in contentment, staying long enough that it would start to hurt. It’s convincing, if Mingyu was to let his guard down then he’d stay in this illusion even in his waking moments. But his heart is hardened and the one thing Mingyu remains aware of is how he’s undeserving of all this. And so his mind conforms.

Everything always stops when he comes, an assailant even in Mingyu’s own mind. The ground crunches with his steps, destroying the saturated dreamscape, leaving nothing but a monochromatic shell of what’s supposed to be Mingyu’s hidden sanctuary.

A shadow falls over Mingyu, blocking the sunlight and erasing his smile. The man reaches out, yanks Mingyu up by the front of his garb.

It’s peculiar how dreams work because Mingyu isn’t what he remembers himself to be. He’s far shorter, an image of himself back when he knew nothing, when his world didn’t go beyond the forest that surrounds his home.

“Wake up, Mingyu,” the man says, and Mingyu could feel his breath fanning over his face. He closes his eyes on instinct. “It’s time, you have to run. Run Mingyu!”

The ground beneath Mingyu disappears, his feet now dangling precariously over the newly formed bottomless void. He grips the man’s arms, so tight that he’s sure it’ll be imprinted there forever, even when the man goes long beyond the realm of the living.

“I don’t want to go, I’m not ready.”

“You are, you have to be.”

And so, Mingyu falls, hands clawing at the figure gradually getting smaller above him. Perhaps it’s Mingyu’s desperation that created tears in the man’s eyes, an image collected straight from the impossible.

Mingyu finds himself back at home, if he was able to call it home at all was in itself debatable, but the familiarity of his surroundings can’t be mistaken for anywhere else. The fireplace crackles, providing warmth but Mingyu feels so, so cold.

The man is there again, sitting by the fire, holding on to something Mingyu couldn’t ever possibly see. His eyes are downcast, the flames from the fire dances with vigour in them yet they’re lifeless, having lost their spark when Mingyu learned how to breathe.

“You aren’t unloved Mingyu, but you will be.”

Mingyu waddles to the man, short legs carrying him the best they could. His hands reach up, demanding to be held and be coddled like any person his age, but he’s left waiting.

“The world is unforgiving,” he says standing up, “it won’t ever spare love for the likes of us. For you.”

Mingyu watches as his father goes out the door, the harsh white of winter left in his wake. The fire dwindles, silent in its dying embers.

The forest sprawls with ageless foliage, each bark hiding a secret, a story yet untold, with roots jutting out to trip those who aren’t paying attention, tangling them to spare a bit of time. But not Mingyu, for he runs through them with ease.

It’s the voice droning at the back of his head that distracts him every time.

 _“Be something more, Mingyu,_ strive _to be more.”_

Mingyu huffs, slides down to hide behind a bark as an axe flies overhead, missing him by mere milliseconds. The sound of an arrow being notched resounds through Mingyu’s ear and he knows he can’t take a rest.

All Mingyu needs to do is survive until dawn, and by the looks of the stars, he only has a few hours left. The question of how he’s going to survive and how badly he’s going to be injured by the end of it is left unanswered.

He takes off, the voice still persistent.

_“The world will not love you. So be strong, be something it can’t get rid off, someone it needs.”_

Mingyu hisses as his side alight with pain, the arrow whizzing past his form and hitting the tree in front of him, splintering wood into the air. Like clockwork, Mingyu makes a sharp turn, avoiding another arrow while ignoring his protesting muscles. With trembling hands, Mingyu puts pressure on the wound, willing it to close like you would a weirdly persistent box of unwanted memories.

His feet carry him with haste, gnarled trees nothing more than a blur with how hard he’s pushing himself. Although the woods feels as infinite as the night, Mingyu strives to see the end, to push through and outlive all his fears.

When Mingyu breaks free of the woods, his breaths are coming out in scarce gasps of air that he wouldn’t be surprised if he collapses on the spot. But the night’s not over. Mingyu can’t afford to let himself cave in.

Black dots Mingyu’s vision but the sight of his father, striding out of the woods with the earliest lights of day surrounding him like a halo of death, hands curled tight around his sword, is unclouded.

Mingyu staggers on his feet, reigning his breaths so it provided enough for him to focus. After regaining clarity, he falls into stance, poised and ready to strike.

“Come.”

Mingyu lurches forward, bolstered by the desire to be seen and acknowledged, just this once. Just once and Mingyu will be _pleased_.

He dodges his father’s swing, his stance wide enough that Mingyu slips through unscathed. His father might be one of the best, but age has its shortcomings and it’s starting to show, albeit in a nominal amount, in his movement’s.

“Stop dodging, a vampire would outlast you.”

A relentless volley of swings later, his father finally lands a hit on Mingyu, who’s finally burnt out from constantly moving with his depleted air levels. The force sends Mingyu staggering back, feet entangled with one another and Mingyu trips. His head hit the ground and Mingyu sees a momentary white.

“A real battle and your blood would no longer be in your body!”

It’s appalling, how with is father’s goading words Mingyu snaps back up, ignoring every flare of alarm his body is trying to convey. The anger and frustration courses through his veins. With electricity in his system, Mingyu cries out and sprints.

His father swings but it’s too slow, Mingyu colliding with his father’s much heavier body.

They landed with a thud, his father’s hands pinned by Mingyu’s, unmoving—a clear sign of the spar being over. Mingyu allows a grin on his face but his father’s remains stoic, not a wink of emotion as he watches, silent.

Dawn arrives, and both of them are in a standstill as the light turns brighter, basking them in the warm embrace of the first morning lights.

The grin falters, and so does his hope. Mingyu detaches himself, a newfound knowledge that he’d never be enough latching to his shoulders instead.

Mingyu runs, his feet carrying him away as far as he could from his father. His lungs burn, the lack of oxygen finally catching up to Mingyu as the adrenaline of the battle ebbs away into a dull throb in his veins.

A stray root catches his foot and he tumbles down a hill, one that wasn’t there before because Mingyu swears the forest doesn’t have enough raised land mass to cause such a long, unending fall.

His whole body is aching, his vision nothing but a thick blanket of darkness refusing to let go. The momentum never stops, gravity out of the equation as Mingyu rolls, down and down until—

Until Mingyu sees white.

It’s supposed to be blinding, a sudden contrast to his previous sight. Yet it’s nothing but comforting.

Pain is absent as Mingyu floats, closer and closer towards where it’s the warmest, a seemingly inexistent spot in the bright space. But Mingyu finds it, as if someone’s guiding him towards it.

The warmth encroaches him, coaxing Mingyu back into consciousness with a gentle touch.

...

Apart from the cold touch on his temples, Mingyu is cocooned in warmth—a velvet softness wrapping him from head to toe. Mingyu finds it hard to dislike the feeling, it’s foreign, yes, yet every part of him yearns for it.

Eyelids weighed with drowsiness, Mingyu wakes with a sluggish blink. He couldn’t see anything. He’s well on his way to panic, but it’s more the smell than anything that makes Mingyu realise he hasn’t lost his ability to see.

Wonwoo’s hand detaches itself from Mingyu’s temple, revealing a face creased with concern, a look Mingyu finds himself detesting. The candlelight accentuates the lines on Wonwoo’s face, his eyes shining against the darkness. Mingyu blinks again to make sure he’s not dreaming.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” Wonwoo says, an unseen force weighing down his shoulders, “but you look troubled.”

This is the first time Mingyu’s seeing Wonwoo free of his long, tenebrous coat, left only in a dress shirt that Mingyu deems too fancy for anything other than a ball. He’s sitting on a stool, just at the edge of the bed Mingyu’s lying on, close but far enough. Mingyu glances down, relief flooding him when he sees Wonwoo’s abdomen is free of any form of red.

Wonwoo of course notices, blinking furtively as he says, “I’m fine.” He moves to touch his midsection, but winces as he miscalculated his strength. The pain is brushed off as Wonwoo’s hand returns to its original position. “But you’re not.”

Mingyu wants to say something but opts to stay quiet. There’s a blanket of exhaustion clouding Mingyu’s mind, and perhaps it’s due to it that Mingyu hardly feels a thing. He almost garbles the world when he speaks, “I feel perfectly okay.”

“No, you’re not,” Wonwoo sighs, a flicker of _something_ passing through his countenance. “Go back to sleep, you still need rest.”

Mingyu doesn’t find it in him to protest, eyelids attempting to go back down as if on a spell, Wonwoo’s worry the charm binding it together.

“Sleep well, Mingyu.” Wonwoo rises but stops besides the bed. He’s hesitating, fingers drumming an unheard beat against the bedcover as he collects his thoughts.

Mingyu’s own roams back to his previous visions, a cavity making itself known in his chest as the images come back.

It seems like a planned concurrence that both their minds made up at the same time. Wonwoo’s on leaving and Mingyu’s on a more hasty, irrational decision—one fuelled by pain.

An act with much thought behind it, Mingyu’s hand reaches out, gripping Wonwoo’s wrist and causing a twinge on Mingyu’s abdomen. Mingyu ignores the pain as Wonwoo turns and hold him in a stare, a silent inquiry as to what he needs.

“Can you make them not appear again?” Mingyu asks, voice small. “The dreams…I won’t be able to sleep.”

Vampires are able to influence minds, it’s a part of their occult biology and an ability that, by its absurdity and how diabolical it sounds alone, has people beshrew vampires. Human nature dictates that they be affronted by a species far superior than theirs. A sound worry, Mingyu considers, as he’s faced a multitude of mind-bending vampires.

But not all vampires has the guile to utilise the ability well; some doesn’t even unlock the skill in the entirety of their lifetime. Like any other skill, it’s learned, refined with time, and if you ever encounter a vampire able to do such things, then the creature is, without a doubt, deft in killing.

Mingyu has had his fair-share of ghoulish experiences with the tricks of the mind. He usually isn’t keen on experiencing it in any capacity.

But he’s willing to tonight, the muted throbbing in his head and abdomen hindering his thought process to want anything other than rest.

“Are you sure you want me to?”

Mingyu knows why Wonwoo asks. Perhaps Mingyu is inviting a stranger to roam the inner workings of his head, past the walls he so carefully constructed to reign his thoughts. He isn’t sure if the walls are even there, anyway.

Letting Wonwoo get a glimpse of himself is decidedly better than reliving his bygone days, a time shrouded in juvenile resentment.

“Please.”

“It’s not a good thing to trust so easily,” Wonwoo says but moves back to stand besides Mingyu despite his own words.

Mingyu lies back down, closing his eyes the moment Wonwoo’s hands wound up to hold his temples, the cold returning to embrace him. Between the satin touch of Wonwoo’s finger and his own fatigue, Mingyu’s more than ready to return back to slumber. But before it could capture him once more, he says, “I know.”

Any response fell into deaf ears as a calming fog weaves throughout Mingyu’s mind, interlocking and banishing any sort of qualms Mingyu had before.

☽

The next waking moment finds Mingyu in the same bed, sunlight streaming through the window besides him, cream-coloured curtains swaying in the soft breeze of late afternoon.

A sufficiently passable sleep behind him, Mingyu sits with considerable ease, linen covers sliding down his bare torso—a fact that escaped his notice before. His stomach is covered by gauze, the way it’s wrapped indicating Wonwoo’s familiarity with the deed.

The small smile forming on his face halts when he notices the red on his left side, a frown showing in its stead. Blood seeps through the fabric, and Mingyu is more surprised than worried about his condition. How many days has it been, anyway?

Searching around the room, Mingyu spots an oaken desk opposite the bed, adjacent to the door. A jug filled with water and a glass sit on top of the table and Mingyu feels his throat shrivel dry at the sight of water, the feeling of parched sandpaper becoming more prominent.

He removes the linen cover and moves his legs to the side, feet touching the floor as his wound protests, eliciting a groan from him. When the pulsing subsided, Mingyu grabs the bedpost and stands. His feet wobbles from disuse but he manages. The distance between the bed and the desk isn’t great by any means, but Mingyu gives up halfway, leaning against the lower end of the bed with a heaviness clinging to his whole body.

Mingyu takes his time to observe the room again, now with a better view. There’s a vase in the corner. Roses a deep scarlet hue, scent wafting Mingyu’s senses, and he wonders if he’d find them in every room.

The scent only got stronger however, as the door slides open with the barest of sounds and in walks Wonwoo, a bundle of fresh gauze in his clutch. Just in time; he must’ve heard Mingyu rustling about the room.

“Mingyu,” he says, setting down the fabric on the table and rushing to his side, “you shouldn’t be walking.”

Mingyu doesn’t protest as Wonwoo guides him back to the bed, “Probably not.”

“You can see for yourself. You’re bleeding again.” Wonwoo gestures to his stained bandage and moves to fetch the new ones he brought.

Mingyu watches as Wonwoo pours water from the jug into a wooden basin, putting it on the bedside table with a piece of clean cloth. He then returns to the jug, poured a glass of water and handed it for Mingyu to drink.

“Thank you,” Mingyu says, handing Wonwoo the glass after he finishes. “It’s odd that I’m bleeding again.”

Wonwoo sits on a stool near the bed and helps Mingyu move as such so that he’s directly facing the wound. It’s easier to dress the wound this way.

“You move quite a lot when you sleep,” Wonwoo offers, motioning Mingyu to sit up straighter so he has better access.

Mingyu is aware enough to let a tinge of embarrassment seep into his being. “Is that so? It’s not usually like that for me.”

His previous assumption of Wonwoo being skilful with dressing wounds prove to be true, as his deft hands unwraps the soiled fabric from Mingyu’s torso, careful enough not to pull the wound itself.

“I believe you Mingyu,” Wonwoo says, the lilt of his voice resembling a laugh before his face turns solemn. “You must not get much sleep usually—can’t get much sleep.”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo stays silent as he dips the clean fabric in the water, squeezes it, and gently dabs it on Mingyu’s torso. The motion repeats, each touch of the fabric underpinned by the utmost care and tenderness that Mingyu doesn’t feel anything past the occasional stinging. It doesn’t take long for the fabric to stain with blood and with each swipe, Mingyu could see the wound better.

“Is that?”

Wonwoo nods, “I stitched it for you.” His next words come with a shake in his voice. “It was frightful, you looked so ghastly that I worried I wasn’t working fast enough.”

Mingyu’s mind runs, an endless onslaught of questions popping up and disappearing unanswered. But the one question at the forefront of his mind is _why._

“How long has it been since…?” His voice trails off, but Wonwoo gets it anyway. Of course, he does.

“You’ve been asleep for over a day, almost two.”

The piece of information takes Mingyu by surprise and his lips remains shut as the questions keep appearing.

With the wound clean, Wonwoo proceeded with rewrapping it with gauze, his hand splayed on Mingyu’s stomach, holding the fabric in place. Something warm lodges itself in Mingyu’s chest. Even so, the arms encircling Mingyu are cold, causing shivers to run down his exposed spine.

“Sorry,” Wonwoo mutters, noticing Mingyu’s reaction. “It’s the sword, Mingyu, not you. You’ll be fine. You have to be.”

Some words are left unsaid, judging by how Wonwoo’s lips pressed into a fine line. Subtle, but there.

Mingyu nods, imperceptible, as Wonwoo finishes with a gentle pat. Leaning back on the stool, Wonwoo makes no move to leave.

It takes a while for Mingyu’s mind to process the information and remember what fully transpired that night, and when it does, he remembers he wasn’t the only one wounded by the sword.

“How about your hand?” Mingyu offers his instead, palms facing up; a silent invitation for Wonwoo.

It’s a seedling at first, unfurling with every passing second in Mingyu’s chest, eroding whatever wall it manages to reach. It would have reached its peak, if it was given the leeway, but how could it when all Mingyu sees is red.

Wonwoo’s hand is ice, but the angry gash down the middle of his palm ignites an intangible flame, abolishing whatever was budding inside Mingyu. His father’s words and years of on-hand experience tell Mingyu anger without aim is harmful. It could be when it’s allowed to fester, Mingyu knows, yet right now it wouldn’t go away, refuses to be tamed.

“Thank you, again.” His mind is elsewhere, too far deep beyond the bounds of thinking clearly. But his words are coming out clear, sincere. Mingyu ghosts his fingers above Wonwoo’s palm, tracing across the line. “It must’ve been difficult; carrying me, stitching me up while being injured yourself. And I didn’t even do anything, you’re the one who chased the wretched vampire. I— ”

“Mingyu.”

Wonwoo curls his fingers, hiding the wound from Mingyu. His breaths are calming, a rhythm Mingyu finds in all of Wonwoo’s movements, a rhythm in which he finds himself relaxing in. His voice pulls Mingyu before he ventures too deep.

Mingyu sighs. “I’m sorry. And thank you. I’m not sure how I can repay you.”

“Then,” Wonwoo shifts, rotating his hand so their palms meet, “don’t ever jump for my cause like that again.”

A silence falls over them. Wonwoo’s words carry more meaning than they should, akin to a promise. Of what Mingyu isn’t sure. It’s not in Mingyu’s knowledge if they’ll ever meet after this whole debacle is over.

But Wonwoo’s icy touch provides the answer for him.

Mingyu’s mind half registers the fact that Wonwoo is touching him without any other purpose than to _just_ be in contact—judging by the soft squeeze—but the other half of mind is preoccupied. It’s quite disorienting how, after a long bout of rest, the brain does take its time to recollect its bearings. Like missing pieces of a puzzle.

“Your other wounds, the one on your stomach, they’re from the vampire, aren’t they?”

Mingyu didn’t intend to sound harsh, but Wonwoo retracting his hand is enough indication. It’s the urgency, dawning on Mingyu that the vampire is still roaming and yet he’s stuck here, debilitated. _Useless._

“They are,” Wonwoo says, hands coming to rest on his middle, probably out of instinct. He doesn’t flinch this time. “They heal longer, but I’m fine. He’s tactful, cunning and got me by surprise.”

“Good.” Mingyu wouldn’t know what to do if Wonwoo’s still suffering. “Did you get anything we can track him by then?”

There’s a flicker in Wonwoo’s eyes, a tension in the way he fiddles with his fingers. It’s something Mingyu’s noticed by now. How Wonwoo openly displays his emotions yet Mingyu couldn’t figure out what he’s thinking of in a precise manner.

“Mingyu…” He stands, “let’s not talk about this now, shall we? You need to recover first.”

Wonwoo gathers the dirtied cloths and the basin, turns and heads straight to the door. Before he walks and leaves Mingyu, he stops. Gaze straight down, brows furrowed and his shoulders bunching up like they’re holding a lifetime worth of ail.

As if an afterthought, something he’s forgotten to say, “ _Please.”_

Mingyu’s heard enough anguish to recognise it by tone alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, suffice to say the state of the fandom right now is absolute crap. i hope everyone still finds something to be happy about despite of it!
> 
> i tried to push this chapter out because, well, for once it's a distraction from everything that's going on. this is a downtime for our lovely main characters but things are going to pick up and i am excited. tell me what you think so far!
> 
> i hope you enjoy, loves, thank you for reading! kudos and comments are highly appreciated <3
> 
> screamboxes are open:  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/9yuwoo) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/9yuwoo)


	3. cor aut mors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _;heart or death_
> 
> —
> 
> mingyu is building it up to burn it back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry, classes have been picking up this past week! but ee i am excited for this one :)

One particular thing Mingyu notices are the roses. How they entangle themselves in every space, not a corner without them, not a wall painted without them. They’re very much like their owner; silent, deadly, _beautiful_.

It’s only been a day, perhaps two, but Mingyu has learned so much yet at the same time, nothing at all.

Mingyu learns Wonwoo spends most his days in his study, cooped up amongst piles of parchment and books, nose buried deep in one or hands busy inking down a piece of parchment with his musings. The daylight surrounds him not unlike the moonlight, but it’s antithetic, a stranger side of him Mingyu hasn’t seen before. It draws an illusion of warmth, one so convincing that Mingyu could almost forget the nature of his touch.

The house he lives in is in a perpetual state of stillness, but Mingyu senses something amiss with how it is. Like there’s supposed to be an unsung song, a silent chatter of happiness whispered amongst the walls, undistinguishable to Mingyu’s ears and other inhabitants. It has its charms, but the loneliness oozes in every inch of the building.

It isn’t the worst. Quite the opposite, actually. Graveyards, tombs and cemeteries with certainty win in terms of broody, dreary vampire lairs.

Even with Wonwoo’s more than adequate home, no amount of these given comforts helped Mingyu cope with the process of healing, however. Something fundamental, as natural as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, yet to him it isn’t. The skin slowly kneading back together, over the stitching and returning to its previous state before the trauma but slowly—it’s all so alien.

Wonwoo has helped, attentive up to a point where Mingyu is shameful of his own helplessness. But he’s quite different. A quiet poignancy seems to drape over his shoulders, a defensive measure as he reels from the emotions he displayed the other night. Mingyu wants to get rid of it, much to his own surprise, but he hasn’t the faintest idea how or why he feels as such.

There are layers to Wonwoo, pages to a book Mingyu isn’t sure the words are even written yet. Uncovering them must be done in moderation, in increments over the passage of time, because Wonwoo is in full control of what he shows, of what words are articulate, and Mingyu has no way of battling that.

Mere glimpses to a maze. A game of push-and-pull that Wonwoo so easily plays. One moment Mingyu’s bare, unravelling under Wonwoo’s sincere emotions, and the next Wonwoo has enclosed in on himself and Mingyu is just as confused as he is. Mingyu has vehemently denied the erratic beating of his heart. It’s never functioned that way, as rapid as rain beating down the dirt and ridding it from any scars, any impurities. So why is it starting now?

Then there’s the offer of help. Mingyu hasn’t forgotten, not in the slightest. Wonwoo’s shown no signs of addressing the matter, but Mingyu is an observer, his life hinges on the subtle nuances of desire and volition more often than not. All the lingering gazes, the minuscule twitch of his fingers, the stress in his lower jaw.

But Mingyu understands. There are a lot at stake with a murderous immortal on the loose and perhaps it keeps Wonwoo from indulging in whatever he has up his sleeve. Not that Mingyu cares in particular. A foreboding swirl in his stomach whispers nonsensical things as to what Wonwoo wants.

Another beating organ in his chest persists on saying the opposite. It whispers of a wonderful revelation, a blossoming cordiality, and Mingyu worries it to be true.

He’s curious as well, but he understands and keeps it tame.

Mingyu understands, really. It’s the same reason he’s standing in the doorway of Wonwoo’s study, a weight in his chest as Wonwoo regards him with apprehension.

“I’m leaving.”

Mingyu has everything with him, which amounts to almost zero as he arrived here without anything, not even his consciousness. His silver dagger is missing but he doesn’t question it—must’ve fallen somewhere along the way.

Wonwoo rises from his chair, movement slow, as if stalling time. He doesn’t move to meet Mingyu. The parchment on his desk is dotted down with ink, page heavy with its distinct stain, and Wonwoo folds it, slips it under a book and out of view.

“So soon?” asks Wonwoo, eyes downcast.

“You’ve been a great help, I might not be here if it wasn’t for you,” Mingyu says, not stepping into the room. “I don’t know how to repay you, Wonwoo. And I know there are things to…resolve, but I have a business to settle and my stuff to fetch.”

Wonwoo’s eyes stray downwards and they stay there. The hardwood flooring hardly looks interesting. “You speak as if we will never meet again. As if this is our last time conversing.”

Mingyu blanches at the statement, mouth parted. “It’s not, is it?”

“Of course not.” Wonwoo smiles, amused. “A promise is a promise. I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself, Mingyu…not in this one.”

Mingyu returns his smile this time. “I’ll meet you later on, then.”

Perhaps it’s just Mingyu’s eyes eluding him, but Wonwoo’s smile widen a tiny bit. But it only lasts for so long as a sharpened fang peeks out of his bitten lips. A solemnity settles back in the air, and Mingyu almost misses the smiles.

“Must you really leave?” Wonwoo rounds the desk, steps soundless. “My crows have been scouring the city ever since that night. It’s been uneventful, the people are lively, even.”

As if on cue, Crow lands on the windowsill, the haze of afternoon behind her.

“That’s an awfully convenient way of gathering information.” Mingyu thinks of him and the guards navigating the city, asking mothers, fathers and their kindling for snippets of information, of the long hours it took for something remotely useful. He feels ridiculous now.

“It quite is. Crows are highly intelligent creatures,” Wonwoo muses, “beautiful, but written off as harbingers of death and tragedy.”

Mingyu knows what Wonwoo wants to deliver with his words even when he hasn’t finished speaking. “They’re misunderstood.”

Wonwoo nods, “A familiar tale for us both, no?”

The words died out as Mingyu watches Wonwoo meet Crow by the window, an inexplicable feeling settling down in the void of his being. It sprawls, nestling at his seams, goading on an unwelcomed rift.

Secret words are exchanged as Crow perches on Wonwoo’s extended hand, staying there for a moment before taking flight again, her dark wings fluttering in the air. Wonwoo opens his eyes, relief flooding his features.

“Seems like every single soul in Sol is preparing for the banquet.”

A sigh from Mingyu. “Either they’re helplessly ignorant or Hyuk’s been keeping it from the public.” Mingyu crosses his hands, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s a big, lavish banquet, and an important one as well. It’s logical for him to keep quiet about everything.”

“If he cares, if his interest for his people is genuine, then he’d cancel the whole celebration. Of what, I don’t even know.”

Wonwoo glances at his rows and rows of books before walking towards them. “Politics are difficult to understand at times.”

Mingyu almost snorts, “You mean selfish most of the time?”

“Well.” Wonwoo’s shoulders bunch up in a shrug. “Some princes don’t become kings, and it’s not hard to see why. Some are diabolical at best.”

“That’s why I need to go. It’s the least I can do for this capitol.”

A breath of air leaves Wonwoo’s lips as he reaches for a book and opens it. His hand curls around something Mingyu can’t see, but the faint smell of burning flesh reaches his nose and Mingyu frowns.

There’s a weight in Wonwoo’s steps, deliberate, continuing his battle to prolong time. Mingyu stands up straighter when Wonwoo comes to stand in front of him.

“I can’t stop you now, can I?” Wonwoo takes Mingyu’s hands in his, dropping a cold item on his palms, “Here.”

His father’s silver dagger gleams in his hands. It’s heavier than he remembers, a heftier quality in the metal.

“It fell when I was tending to your wounds. I’m sure it’s important.”

Mingyu stares at the blade, his skin boiling ever so slightly as he takes a deep breath. There’s a possibility Wonwoo has seen of it before, tapping into his mind and all. No, Wonwoo must know. And oddly, Mingyu doesn’t find himself repulsed with the idea.

“Thank you.” He pockets the dagger, now hovering over the doorway, unsure of what to do.

They both linger in front each other, silent, and while Wonwoo seems to have difficulties meeting Mingyu’s eyes, Mingyu doesn’t. His eyes shut and Wonwoo is there, burned in the back of his mind. It’s getting dire, traces of Wonwoo’s hands, aiding him, supporting him, ghosts on his skin like an invisible tattoo. Perhaps his reason of leaving goes beyond helping the predicament Sol is in.

“You can always stay here, Mingyu. It’s safer, saves coin.”

Mingyu’s eyes open to see Wonwoo now looking at him again. Out of necessity, Wonwoo has placed wards around his home, driving away unwanted visitors without them knowing. It’s a little way out of the centre of the city, not too far, just a perfect distance to retain some quiet and peace despite being in the capitol. And with no houses directly adjacent to his, he has an abundant space.

It’s a lovely place. It’s _Wonwoo’s_ place.

“Sure,” Mingyu finds himself saying, “yeah that’s…a nice offer. Thank you.”

Wonwoo smiles and if Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest when Wonwoo held his hand one last time, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

☽

A few days were enough time for the streets of the city to be filled with magnificent decorations, the silk banners of Sol dance with a kaleidoscope of colours in the wind. Unlit lanterns hang on wires above the streets, the glasses covering adorning different colours. Mingyu saunters through the pathways, evading people rushing down and running around, hurried to enjoy the festivities held somewhere around the town.

It’s a convincing disguise, a gold-gilded wrapper for a much more miserable gift, concealing the tragedies running over the nooks of Sol.

Children’s laughter flitters through the air and Mingyu attempts his best to not let it get to him. He fears for the worst, a persistent hunch in his gut.

The tavern during the afternoon is less crowded than it is at night, only a handful of people are loitering around with cups of ale in front of them. But then it could be due to the bright music and the free alcohol offered outside. Mingyu greets the lady behind the counter, her eyebrows quirked as he sees him, but she nods, nonetheless.

A dawning sensation comes over him as he trudges up the stairs, feeling as if it’s been forever since he rested here. He rounds the corner to his previous room. Mingyu always packs light, and he takes nothing but his coat and gloves before leaving. Everything else is with Cheonji, and Mingyu hopes nobody has taken anything from her saddle bags. Not that he has any possession of value, anyway, so he isn’t too worried.

After wearing all his gear, Mingyu goes back down and sits at the bar. It would be impolite of him to not order anything before his leave. He pays for an ale and his room fare, then with dread realises how he’s depending on the King’s pay.

Pity, working for coins, ridding everyone of their nightmares but it all culminates to him being regarded as nothing but an abomination.

Mingyu sighs, the alcohol bitter on his tongue but he sips it with ease. His mind thumps in tune with the lively tune the bard is playing, strums of the string jumping along his churning thoughts.

Finding Seungcheol is at the top of his priority, but the dim lighting of the tavern lulls him to stay. The music transforms into a sad one, undulating throughout the whole place, soft chatter a complementary piece to the melody.

And he ends up not having to search as the door opens with urgency, hitting the wall opposite it. The lady grunts but makes no move to address what was probably damage to her property.

Mingyu turns his head to find Seungcheol, waterworks threatening to spill from his eyes from what Mingyu could observe, standing there with the slightest of trembles in his hands. One of the guards must’ve seen Mingyu before, delivering the information to the captain.

“Mingyu.” Seungcheol approaches him and Mingyu stands.

But before Mingyu could utter a word, he’s pulled into an embrace, Seungcheol’s arms encircling his shoulders, patting his back like a father would to their son. A rather awkward position as Mingyu is taller.

Unsure of what to do, Mingyu stays put. It’s unfamiliar, a gesture foreign to him and although Seungcheol means well, Mingyu doesn’t know if Seungcheol would like him to return the act.

“Sorry, force of habit.” Seungcheol pulls away, keeping Mingyu at arm’s length to observe him. Countenance a turmoil of emotions, Seungcheol motions Mingyu to sit back down and orders himself a cup of ale, ignoring the steely stare of the lady.

After gulping down half the cup, Seungcheol resigns in on himself and sighs.

“Look, I know both you and your friend would never forgive me, but I’m sorry.” His lips weighed down with regret. “I would offer a head for a head, but we still have much to do. Let’s save it for after the banquet— “

“No, why would I want that?” Mingyu asks, incredulous.

A pile of grudges will simmer and rot oneself, winning over anything logical and Mingyu hasn’t the need for that. In a world where already so much are taken already, Mingyu doesn’t want to partake in the act. Mingyu wants to—needs to give.

The captain purses his lips in thought, eyebrows downturned. “You have no urge to get even, not even a tiny bit?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “I don’t.”

“Weird, this always works with the boys back in the castle.” Seungcheol tilts his cup, dawning the rest of the content. Concern should be at the forefront of Mingyu’s mind but Seungcheol seems like he needs it, so he opts for a frown instead of questioning his worrying consumption of alcohol.

“I’m concerned about what kind of training you put your subordinates through.”

Shoulders shaking in laughter, Seungcheol attracts several glances before quieting down, embarrassed and uttering a small ‘sorry’. “Nothing hellish, but you know people. An accidental punch and they’re out for blood. I let them get even so no trouble emerges down in the road.”

Mingyu makes a noise of acknowledgement, taking another sip from his own cup.

A silence befalls them even with the mirth in their conversation earlier.

It’s how chatter ends with Mingyu. Silence; an attempt of friendship foiled by his inability to be defenceless, to be normal. Not that he is, but a voice, appearing only a few days prior, insists that a change is underway. Because gods forbid Mingyu enjoys talking to Wonwoo. And Wonwoo makes it so easy, as if Mingyu is worth the time.

It’s only after a while that Seungcheol finds his wording again, facing Mingyu with his arms tense on his knees. Even so, the guilt never strays from his face, lines set deep.

He’s about to say something, lips halfway parted, but Mingyu beats him to it, a feeling on what he’s about to say.

“Stop apologising.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows lifted at this, mouth attempting to form words again but failing. His hand tightens and he swallows. “I…so are we good?”

“We were never _not_ good, Seungcheol.”

“But I injured you, I nearly killed you!”

In a quite dramatic way, the lady behind the bar almost drops the cup she was wiping. In the very least, Seungcheol has the wit to look sheepish, realising his words aren’t exactly tavern-friendly chatter.

“But you didn’t, and that’s what matters. Accidents happen, some worse than others but as you can see,” Mingyu gestures to himself, voice quieter than Seungcheol’s, “I’m right here in one piece. Perfectly fine.”

Seungcheol taps his finger on his knees, movement growing rapid as time passes. “How am I supposed to know that’s true? How do I know you’re fine and not pretending to lug around like a healthy person?”

Mingyu has the urge to run a hand through his face, but his fingers twitch instead. “Has anybody told you that you can be dramatic?”

“On several instances, yes,” Seungcheol says, unperturbed by the question.

Care fuels Seungcheol’s actions, Mingyu has seen it the other night as well. As deeply empathetic as Seungcheol is, he’s equally selfless, doing things with conviction and not caring whether he earns odd glances or disagreements for it. This, Mingyu thinks, is just another part of that.

“You don’t need to worry, trust me.”

Gears seem to run and spark as Seungcheol thinks, before asking, “How?”

Mingyu’s shoulders lift in a shrug, understanding his question just fine, “Just a part of me, I guess.”

“That’s precisely why I’m asking, I mean my sword— “

“They heal,” Mingyu says, cutting Seungcheol off. His hand wound up to his side, eliciting a dull sting but otherwise fine. “They take longer, yes, but they recover.”

Seungcheol quiets down again, hands now crossing across his torso. A few ticks of his fingers, then he breathes, “Fine then, I’ll take your word for it.” He nods, convincing himself. “And how about your friend?”

“Wonwoo?” asks Mingyu, to which Seungcheol gives an affirmative nod. “He’s all right.”

“I know, considering that you’re fine then he must be too.” Seungcheol says, eyes flickering to anywhere but Mingyu. “What I mean is if he’s plotting my demise for what I did.”

Mingyu’s lips tugged into a minuscule smile, imperceptible. “I don’t think he has a heart to even think of that.”

“But he seemed furious that night—he was furious.”

Mingyu remembers the coldness of Wonwoo’s voice, the arms flanking his waists and shivers. He shakes his head, “It was probably the heat of the moment. None of us were quite in the right mind then.”

His words do not reflect the pull near his lungs, however, but Mingyu eludes himself to his own words. Brighter versions of reality aren’t healthy by any means. They stick like honey, saccharine and sweet but washes away with the smallest of currents. And the world is a whirlwind of untamed seas.

“That’s true…good.” Another sip of his ale. “Could you perhaps deliver my apology then?”

“I will. Though I think you should say that to him yourself.”

“Right. I’ll do that when we meet again.” A small laughter falls from Seungcheol’s lips. “Odd, I’m actually afraid.”

They both stayed for a while, savouring this short moment of tranquillity. The cheerful, festal music comes to an end when their drinks are finished, and they take it as their cue to leave.

“Right. That’s enough loitering around.” Seungcheol stands, patting his legs clean of invisible dust and Mingyu follows him out the door.

The previously unlit lanterns are now lit at the dawn of sunset, painting the stone building walls iridescent. Music is prevalent, some people already stumbling by this hour and children still run amok.

Seungcheol smiles at every passer-by, a few laughs and shy smiles thrown back at him. And though Mingyu wishes to be half as polite as Seungcheol, he couldn’t. The harsh whispers are enough to let him know, the hostile glances, fearful quivers of children are more than enough.

Mingyu shouldn’t be bothered, but Seungcheol’s reassuring nod appeases him anyway.

Although Mingyu knows Wonwoo is the farthest thing from a liar, he’s had a hard time believing that the vampire’s been complacent these past few days.

Seungcheol tells him of the truth, which is not far off from what Wonwoo provided him with, of how they’ve added patrol hours and guards in each lot and ultimately found nothing of concern since Mingyu went away. The captain suspects it to be because of the upcoming banquet.

A prestigious event requires more security than any other day, and though a vampire is out of any normal guard’s league, there’s a possibility this particular one might not want to go through the trouble. Mingyu doubts this to be true but keeps quiet.

This one vampire has a motive, one yet to be discovered and these small stifles barely serve as a hindrance for him. But if it’s what Seungcheol needs to believe to have a sliver of calm before the onslaught of responsibilities he’ll get before and during the banquet, then Mingyu will let him have it.

Mingyu can handle it. He doesn’t know at what expense yet, but he has to manage on his own. There are people with responsibilities bigger than themselves. Seungcheol is one of them, but Mingyu knows he isn’t. And it’s without effort that Mingyu remains aware of this, nothing but a moving part, putting front those who matter more.

The thought of how Seungcheol would make for a better king finds Mingyu as he watches Seungcheol that night. They’re both on top of Sol’s watch tower. It’s on a higher land mass than the rest of the town, a little way south from the royal palace, allowing full view of the capitol below.

From Seungcheol’s weightless, relaxed shoulders as he watches the lights dance in the city, Mingyu sees how it’s a place of respite for him.

“You have a lovely view from up here.”

“I know,” Seungcheol muses, leaning over the balustrade. “A beauty that hides its thorns. Sol is alluring that way.”

The wind rustles them ever so slightly, cheers and music nothing but distant noises painting the night sky. A black silhouette moves across it and Mingyu recognises Crow as the moon and stars reflect on her feathers.

Only when Wonwoo arrives in a wisp of dark fog does Mingyu truly bask in the glow of the city. A sereneness of a friend by his side, knowing that in this span of time Mingyu isn’t alone.

The apology went without a hitch, Wonwoo dismissing it with ease and none of the bitterness Seungcheol expected.

“I’m used to it.” Wonwoo says.

Wonwoo rubs his hand and a sadness creeps into Mingyu, watching as Wonwoo smiles not happily. A question for another time, he guesses.

☽

Cheonji slows to a stop right outside Wonwoo’s house, neighing as Mingyu steps down with a pat on her side. She wastes no time to graze the grass near the entrance and Mingyu leaves her there.

The now familiar building greets him as the sun starts to peek out of the horizon, using the sky as its limitless canvas to display the earliest colours of day. Mingyu takes it as a sign to rest after yet another fruitless night of watching.

Mingyu isn’t deterred by the faint magic emanating from the house. It inviting him instead of shying him away like what its intended purpose adheres it to do, a warm welcome before Mingyu enters the house himself.

He finds Wonwoo in his study, eyes restless as it never strays from the thick book he has open on the desk. Somehow, Mingyu finds the sight amusing. He makes his way to the sofa in the far side of the room, snug between the towering bookcases. Wonwoo remains immersed in his read.

Plush cushions beckon Mingyu to relax on the seat and so he does. His muscles loose tension and Mingyu finds himself melting in the rich, soft velvet of Wonwoo’s lounge.

Both remain silent in each other’s presence, air noticeably less stifling than their first encounter many nights ago. Mingyu’s quite baffled with how this is achievable. Knitting an amicable relationship this fast is a rare occurrence in all the time Mingyu’s been, time scarce and walls sturdy. But it’s nice, and Mingyu allows himself to revel in it just this once.

The only sound comes from Wonwoo flipping the pages, parchment grating against parchment. Candlelight flickers in sporadic intervals, battling with the budding sunrise in shaping shadows across the room. A rhythm finds him again. It’s soporific, weighing down Mingyu’s eyelids and lulling him with rest.

Mingyu must’ve given in to it at some point. Dozing off as he watches Wonwoo read. He only regains clarity when he feels a fabric gently set down on him. Mingyu doesn’t get cold at all, but the sentiment sets a cleave up the already missing pieces.

Blinking the sleep away from his eyes, Mingyu finds Wonwoo above him.

“Sorry,” Mingyu says, sitting straighter, movement lethargic, “I’m not even that tired.”

All the curtains are drawn, the room dark despite it being morning. It isn’t that Wonwoo has problems with sunlight.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Mingyu.”

A pin drops, a frivolous weight yet its echoes are loud as it plummets, rupturing his walls along in its wake.

“I think it’s you.”

Wonwoo takes his time processing the four words Mingyu uttered, before an eyebrow rises, and softly, “What do you mean?”

It starts again. The beating. Mingyu splays a hand on his chest as reassurance to himself. “Sleep never finds me this easily. It’s a game of cats and mouse, with the mouse scurrying away most of the time. And the cat wins when time is absent. But being with you…”

“You know I would never do anything to you without consent.”

“No.” Mingyu shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Mingyu doubts that the answer escapes Wonwoo, but he asks anyway, lips teetering on the edge of a smile. “Then?”

“A question first.”

Wonwoo sits down beside him and Mingyu scoots over, creating a small distance between them, a precautionary measure.

“Sure.” Wonwoo shows no reaction of Mingyu moving, his countenance now guarded with Mingyu’s tone.

Something lodges itself in Mingyu’s throat and he swallows. He doesn’t quite know how to word what he’s about to ask. There aren’t a less direct alternative, though, so he asks, “Drinking blood accelerates your healing, doesn’t it?”

If Wonwoo’s surprised by the question—and Mingyu thinks he should be—he doesn’t show it. With a deliberate nod, he answers, “Yes, it does.”

Mingyu glances at Wonwoo’s hand, a stark contrast against the red cushion. Then his eyes move to his torso, lingering there before finally moving to meet his eyes. The scarlet shimmers with concealed thoughts, with untold tales and Mingyu—Mingyu finds them mesmerising.

And he’s keen on opening the book, page by page, word by word, until the ink seeps and forms an approximation of Wonwoo as a being. One Mingyu could get to know, delving deep without barriers.

“Then, when you say you’re used to it to Seungcheol that night. Of how wounds like this“—Mingyu gestures at Wonwoo’s hand—“doesn’t matter. Have you never considered it?”

Wonwoo’s lips pressed into a line, hands curling. “That’s a difficult question.”

The crease of his eyebrows becomes prominent. After a minute, Wonwoo leans back on the chair, a shameful smile marring his face. Regret starts to bud in Mingyu.

“Yes, I have considered doing it. Multiple times. On different occasions. More often than I’m proud to admit. And when they land a good hit, say, a vital spot, even more so.”

“They must be almost unbearable.” And Mingyu says that with a queasiness in his stomach.

A bemused chuckle falls from Wonwoo’s lips. “I’m sure you can imagine, Mingyu.”

Oh, Mingyu could, can, will always be able to. He nods, both answering and encouraging Wonwoo on.

“It’s tempting, I must say. But I’ve never given in to it.”

“Why?”

“I’d never let a living being suffer. Not by anyone’s hands, let alone mine.”

Mingyu frowns, a whirlwind picking up inside of him. An inexplicable sadness comes rushing, deep and scarring and Mingyu despises the feeling. “But you make yourself suffer by choosing that.”

“They live, and I don’t. It’s a clear difference, Mingyu. One you might not see but it’s there.”

It’s painful. Hearing Wonwoo’s voice is painful but the pinprick in Mingyu’s chest worsens as he looks at Wonwoo’s small smile, lips almost quivering, hiding so, so much.

Mingyu doesn’t understand, not fully, but he knows. He knows how it feels to be torn. His seams are at a constant strife to stay together yet all Mingyu wants to do is hold Wonwoo’s together instead of his own.

And so, he does. Hands enveloping Wonwoo’s cold ones, Mingyu clings and holds.

“You’re so warm.” Wonwoo smiles.

With a momentary closing of his eyes, Mingyu wills his emotions to ebb away, focusing solely on how Wonwoo’s hand is slotted in his. “I’m sorry.”

“You also keep apologising for things you have no control over. Stop that.”

Mingyu swallows again, not responding, opting to watch how they fit together. Their dichotomy stands out to him; warm and cold, Wonwoo’s pale against his gold, warmed by the sun and heavy with unseen scars of old.

The tension comes crashing down, washing over them and dissipating in the air as Wonwoo’s hand relaxes in his. It stays, before moving on top of Mingyu’s, giving one final squeeze.

“Get some rest, Mingyu.”

Wonwoo stands and Mingyu feels lost without the cold. But between the cushion and Wonwoo’s smile, his rhythmic steps as he goes back to delve in his reading, Mingyu’s eyelids start to close on their own.

“It’s lessened though, now that I’ve come to know you.” Wonwoo’s voice is small, as if giving out a secret he isn’t sure he wants Mingyu to hear yet.

Sleep takes Mingyu before he could think of Wonwoo’s words.

And it starts again. Images vivid and surreal as he starts to dream.

☽

Mingyu should know by now that things have never ever truly go according to plan when it comes to vampires. Or about any part his life, really.

Even with Wonwoo, the world has no concern in changing for the likes of them. The stars twinkling, lanterns illuminating the streets an incandescent glow—it’s beautiful. But they remind Mingyu of just how misplaced he is.

The first indication of something awry is the harsh whispers, more prevalent than days before, bouncing between the scowls and stares and jabbing Mingyu more than they should be able to. The next, well, comes in the form of Seungcheol.

It doesn’t take long for Mingyu to find the captain rushing down to him, urgent as he slips through people and meets Mingyu in the middle of the square. His grip on Mingyu’s arm is bruising. Seungcheol steers Mingyu away from the busy space to a more quiet, secluded place, the street deserted except for the old man sitting in the corner.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, stepping back as Seungcheol lets go of him.

With one hand gripping his hip and another running through his hair, Seungcheol heaves a long breath. It seems to take his whole energy with it, his shoulders sagging along with the sigh. “This is wrong. I’m sorry Mingyu, I tried my best to but he always disregards everyone else when making decisions.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“The king wants you out of the city.”

A pang on his stomach nearly makes Mingyu stumble, but his legs remain firm on the ground. Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He’s keeping the rippling seeds of anger at bay.

“It’s for the banquet. He said that you’re causing unrest amongst the people, that you’re not helping but doing the opposite,” Seungcheol says it in one breath.

Mingyu seethes. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know and—Mingyu? Where are you going?”

Mingyu moves not with haste but with purpose, boots crunching on the stone pavement with frustration and the people parted like seas. Afraid of him, afraid of coming too close.

The palace up on the hill comes to his view, guards peering at him with disgust but stops when they see Seungcheol following behind Mingyu. One dares to spit at him though, and Mingyu’s mind reels.

Last night’s dream is coming back to him. And Mingyu bit his tongue as it consumes him.

☽

Moonlight glimmers in the water, Mingyu basks in its calming glow before he smells _it_. It’s tantalising, horribly so, as Mingyu could feel his nerves run aflame and his legs moving before he could grasp what’s happening.

The forest zooms past him, Mingyu moving in a speed he doesn’t know he’s capable of. Then he sees it. He sees him.

His father is sitting on one of the bigger rocks near the stream, posture relaxed as the crimson drips, drips and drips.

“Don’t let it fester in you, Mingyu. It’ll grow. Bigger and bigger until it consumes you completely,” his father says, impassive to Mingyu’s struggle.

Mingyu drops to the ground, knees digging the forest floor and dirtying his trousers, but he doesn’t care. His seams are coming apart, so Mingyu wounds his arms, holding tight.

A feral desire creeps at him and the tears fall. It hurts to resist, ravaging against his natural instincts but Mingyu persists, biting down his tongue until blood is drawn.

☽

Mingyu pushes the doors of the great hall, weight not a hindrance as he flings it open. The stationed guards raise their spears, all pointed to Mingyu, a target they’re willing to strike, and the tips follow Mingyu with great accuracy.

Mingyu ignores them, eyes trained solely on Hyuk sitting at his throne. He’s met with the same fierceness, however. Hyuk moves to sit upright, hands gripping the seat and eyes returning Mingyu’s unwavering gaze. The king looks the farthest from pleased to see him here.

With a wave of his hand, Hyuk dismisses the guards when Mingyu comes to a stop before him. Their armours clink as they lowered their weapons, returning back to their original posts but remaining vigilant. Seungcheol is silent behind Mingyu.

The tension is a thick blanket on Mingyu’s skin, but he’s here with conviction. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing,” Hyuk says, face almost a sneer. “Or are you accusing me of something, hunter?”

“I don’t know.” Mingyu shows teeth, lips pulled in a sardonic smile. The flinch Hyuk did sends a wave of satisfaction in him. “But with what you have decided, I just might.”

“It’s amusing how you act as if you know the answer to everything.”

“Oh, forgive me, _your Majesty,_ ” says Mingyu, “I forgot I’m nothing but a hunter who has done this for years. I’m sure I know the answer to this one.”

“Yet you’ve done nothing to show of this, Kim Mingyu.” Hyuk leans forward, hands coming together to support his chin. “Tell me, what have you achieved all this time you’ve been here?”

Seungcheol shuffles forward. “Your Majesty— “

“Silence. I ask no words from you, captain.”

Seungcheol falters, not before sending a concerned glance Mingyu’s way, coming to stand behind Mingyu again. With a soft touch on Mingyu’s back, Seungcheol encourages him to back down.

Inclining his head, Mingyu thanks Seungcheol for the sentiment but at the same time he conveys his resolve with a minuscule shake of his head, hoping it’s enough for Seungcheol to catch, of how he’s not bending down to injustice.

Mingyu turns back to Hyuk. “More than you, I presume. Your throne’s pretty comfortable isn’t it? Not to mention high up. Far from the endless, miserable woes it takes to uphold it.”

And the boundaries have been broken. The world stills, time winding down a path untraversed, twisting the continuum to elongate and emphasis on this point of time; where Mingyu rears his fangs, when an indomitable part of Hyuk snaps. It’s only broken when the sound of metal swishes in the air, some weapons raised once more. A firm hand from Seungcheol keeps them at bay, though.

“You insolent _mongrel,_ ” Hyuk spits, an ugly twisting of his old, squared face. “You dare come to my court, tell me how to govern my city and now showing up here, accusing me of nonsense when I’ve clearly told you to leave?”

“I’m not going anywhere when your horrible idea of a banquet is still underway.”

“Nothing is going to happen. The only menace in Sol is you. Roaming around and instilling fear in my people.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “I don’t take words from someone who turns a blind eye to a potential slaughter.”

“Oh,” Hyuk musters out before his whole body shakes in laughter, the sound bouncing around the stone walls. “Oh, you poor soul.”

The rapid rate with which dread envelopes Mingyu is ominous. And when Hyuk opens his mouth again, Mingyu feels as though he’s heard his own death sentence, condemned to bleed for the rest of his life.

“The only blind one here is you, Kim Mingyu. It amazes me how you fail to see that everyone will never, not in your lifetime, see you as anything other than a dirty, monstrous half- _vampire.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^^ comments are loved
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/9yuwoo) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/9yuwoo)  
> (tell me about your day! or anything, really)


	4. ad meliora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _;towards better things_
> 
> -
> 
> mingyu meets an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: imprisonment, mentions of child injury from training

Mingyu has realised by now of how quick Wonwoo has become a crutch he would willingly fall back on. His anchor amidst sprouting chaos.

Although he stumbles and scrapes through the streets, Seungcheol’s scarring grip the sole reason he isn’t filled with holes as they drag Mingyu out of the palace, down the winding streets, earning sneers and laughter of glee at Mingyu’s suffering, he holds on to the image of Wonwoo.

He remains still, eyes roaming around him once to catch a glimpse of Crow, before shutting back down. She’s watching, and so must he. Stars don’t swim in his vision as he sways, it’s dark and empty, an obscure telling as to what awaits him. He focuses and he could almost ignore the sounds except those that came from his heart. Slow, steady, unfazed by the situation.

Several sharpened edges of a blade pressed into his back, on the edge of digging through the fabric of his clothes; a silent warning. But a useless one as Mingyu has no intention of retaliating, not right now. Not when he’s tearing, a part of him insisting to fight back, to finish what he set out to do in the first place, and the other bigger, older part of him murmurs promises of atonement if he gives in.

One is more prominent than the other. And Mingyu is tempted to surrender himself to it.

He remains as such until he feels himself being thrown, body clambering against a wet stone pavement, dirt splattering to him. It’s dark and musty. The air is pungent and only a slither of moonlight illuminates the room. Without the slightest knowledge of where he is, Mingyu watches as Seungcheol and the several guards that escorted him stand before him, faces differing levels of disgust and fear.

He deserves it, mayhaps.

“Leave us.” Seungcheol commands.

They hesitate but comply when Seungcheol shoots them a stern glare. One ascends the stone stairway and the rest follow, leaving Mingyu alone with a mute Seungcheol, countenance one of despair.

After a harrowing minute, Seungcheol kneels, his knee-plates scraping against the dirt and hands steadying Mingyu. “Are you all right?”

The place reeks of dung, smell infiltrating Mingyu’s keen sense of smell. It takes all of his will to not gag at it. He rids the blossoming headache with a shake of his head, controlling his breaths in lengthy intervals, slowing down his bloodstream.

He eyes Seungcheol, weary. Unsure of which side he’s shown is an act. It’s quite funny, really, how Seungcheol worried about Mingyu holding a grudge against him but now, as they both sit in this stuffy dungeon, the opposite may very well be true.

Mingyu bats Seungcheol’s hands away, sitting on his own and dragging himself until his back hits the wet stone wall. “I’m fine.”

The pain is present, but Seungcheol wouldn’t understand, nor be able to see it. He feels as though he’s leaking, ebbing away into the air and rendering him motionless, a mere empty shell. He has to keep himself together, he has to—

“You’re going to get out of here.”

“Why bother?” Mingyu leans his head back, hitting the wall. He doesn’t feel the sting. “My head is probably worth more as a part of the king’s collection than it being on my neck, isn’t it?”

Seungcheol moves, squatting right in front of Mingyu. “We don’t know that yet. What you did was…reckless, and definitely counts as treason. But I won’t let anything happen.”

Mingyu stares at his hands, dirt stuck between his fingernails and he feels disgusted. All the blood he’s spilled starts to show if he stares hard enough. So he cradles his head, putting pressure so his grip on reality doesn’t wane.

His ears ring despite the silence, not even the wind making a sound yet it pierces him. “Why aren’t you angry?”

“It should be a crime that I’m not, shouldn’t it?” Seungcheol says to which he pauses, then continue with a firmer tone. “But I don’t, Mingyu, just surprised by your bravery. My allegiance lies with the people, not the king.”

Mingyu doesn’t move, the darkness a reprieve from the bleaker scenery he had in front of him. It’s with dread that he feels a slight shake in his body. But he holds it. It’s ridiculous for him to be this way, even more so in front of Seungcheol.

“You aren’t going to give up here, aren’t you, Mingyu?”

“I don’t know, captain. Maybe it’s what the world needs.” His voice is small, a statement more for himself than Seungcheol.

“Mingyu, the people need you. Not down here, but up there, doing what you do.”

The words fly over his head, Mingyu still refusing to look up.

But the captain’s next words struck something inside of him. A feeling that he can’t domesticate and the loop of remorse breaks, with three simple words.

“I need you.”

At this Mingyu removes his head from his hands, looks up and expects someone else. Half of him wants to see another pair of eyes instead of the captain’s. Mingyu’s just deluding himself at this point.

His mind reels back to Wonwoo’s hand in his, of his mournful smile that night in the study. If Mingyu could be selfish, and Mingyu wants to be selfish this one time, then he’d like to change that. A goal he’s kept close to his heart. One he’d kept behind bars but it’s rearing its head in this very moment.

It’s a gradual weight settling in his chest, unfurling like the roses in Wonwoo’s house and Mingyu almost suffocates. Because it fills him. It grows and expands, banishing the void until Mingyu is sure he’s overflowing. It flows and flows and culminates in a string of insurmountable melodies, singing inside of him. For a moment, Mingyu longs for something. And he’s afraid.

He’s terrified of what he wants. He’s terrified that he _wants_.

Mingyu takes a deep breath, air leaving with a quiver of his lips. His legs tremble as he accepts Seungcheol’s hands. The captain is worried at this, concern evident in his furrowed brows but he says nothing, simply tightening his hold on Mingyu as he helps him stand.

“Are you good?”

“I don’t know yet,” Mingyu says, hand gripping on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “But I will be.”

 _He has to be_. The thought slithers through his mind but he fends it away. There’s another reason instead, it starting with want to instead of has. Because Mingyu wants to see him again; a person that understands him. Mingyu wouldn’t resign when a fledgling sense of belonging was just starting to reside in him.

It’s a feeling he hasn’t taken note of until now. In a time where his view is dim and rationality is skewed, yet the familiarity he finds in Wonwoo is unmistakeable.

Seungcheol pats Mingyu’s hand, keeping it in his hold and only letting go when he makes sure Mingyu is fine standing on his own. Not that Mingyu is injured, he can stand just fine but he’s grateful for Seungcheol’s concern, nonetheless.

“We don’t know where or when this vampire will strike but Mingyu, I want you here,” says Seungcheol, “I want you right here in Sol. So please, stay.”

Mingyu nods at this, not having a response to the sincerity of his words. It sends a surge, and something solidifies in Mingyu.

With one last squeeze of reassurance, Seungcheol moves for the stairs. He turns back once more, gaze remaining on Mingyu and face shadowed before he dips his head and leaves Mingyu alone.

It’s cold. Mingyu feels cold down here and he has a hard time discerning if it was the air or something else. The flicker of a blaze earlier keeps him undeterred though.

The moonlight brightens when it nears midnight. It glimmers even against the dirt, the metal bars on the window creating patterned shadows as it reflects on the floor.

Mingyu watches with an amalgamation of boredom and hope, time moving excruciatingly slow as he sits on the driest patch of dirt he could find, just opposite the small window.

He’s had time to mull over his thoughts. Coming to a decision wasn’t easy, it’s a relentless battle but one thing that Mingyu discerns, apart from the flurry of thoughts and emotions, is that Mingyu will not cave in.

Desires and duties. Burdened responsibilities and volitional acts. They come in a convoluted package in which Mingyu’s had a hard time choosing from. It takes great effort, but Mingyu reached an understanding with himself. A single note of choice. One that, Mingyu acknowledges with a foreign sense of acceptance, comes from his own.

The fear has diminished, down to a point where Mingyu knows that wanting isn’t a sin.

A bird-shaped shadow falls over the light and Mingyu finds Crow perching on the small window. Somehow, Mingyu feels rather than see how she’s cowering in what is perhaps worry. It bleeds to the air surrounding her, thick and with an equal heaviness with the smell that drapes the dungeon—Mingyu could only imagine what Wonwoo is going through.

“Hey,” Mingyu saunters up to her, legs aching a bit from disuse. The window is taller than Mingyu by an inch, so he reaches his hands up, just shy of the barred hole. Crow nuzzles into his outstretched hand like a pup would, rough feathers giving Mingyu a tickle. “It’s alright.”

A caw and she detaches herself. She’s eyeing Mingyu again, beady eyes a familiar sight by now. They aren’t able to communicate like before, but what she—or rather, Wonwoo—is trying to convey is as clear as day.

“I’ll be fine.”

Dipping her head, Crow takes off. Mingyu can’t see past ground level, only the grass swaying softly with the wind is visible, and so Mingyu hopes Crow flies safely. Back to her home, to him.

And Mingyu returns to the dark, legs crossed, and hands loosened, eyes closing but mind not catching a rest. He has a lot of things to sort.

☽

The single iron gate at the top of the stairs grates against the stone walls, pulling Mingyu from his partly conscious state with trepidation, half-lidded eyes blinking awake.

Obtaining rest isn’t easy, the place not accommodating any form of bedding and a minimal amount of dry land. Mingyu would’ve slept on a piece of rag just fine, but there’s none and as a result of sitting for most of the time, his whole body is aching. His muscles pulled every time he attempts to move, protesting when Mingyu rises to his feet.

Mingyu’s lost count on how many times the sun has set and the moon risen, preserving energy by staying idle and attempting the best to sort his jumbled mind. It’s rewarding; both his mind and resolve far clearer and more solid than before.

Though his body is weak without sustenance, his honed focus should be enough should anything happen. Perks of being half-vampire. Unless a hoard of guards decides to barrel down here then Mingyu should be fine.

Turns out, he hasn’t the need to worry as it is only Seungcheol that trudged down the stairs, instead of the impossible amount of people he expected.

Seungcheol’s face is one of concealed relief, a contrast with what Mingyu’s last seen, the upwards stretch of his lips betraying the rigidness of his gait. Seungcheol tries to reign his smile but it bleeds into his voice anyway.

“I have a plan.”

Mingyu allows the relief to reach him too, pose going lax as he replies, “A good one, I hope?”

“Of course,” Seungcheol says, hands crossing against his torso. “The banquet is exactly in six days. So I need you to fully recover by then, can you do that?”

“I’m fine,” Mingyu says but stops when Seungcheol shoots him a look. He sighs in resignation, realising Seungcheol’s seriousness. “But yeah. I’ll be good before then.”

“Good. And Mingyu, I mean it when I say _fully_.”

His body aches and the dungeon hasn’t turned for the better since he first got thrown down here, but Mingyu can’t help the amusement blooming in his chest. “I heard you the first time, captain.”

“The two of you can work on that, I believe. I trust you both.”

“Both of us?”

“Exactly,” Seungcheol nods with misplaced glee, the glint in his eyes an indication he knows something Mingyu doesn’t. “Now, for how we’re going to get you out of here.”

Mingyu wants to inquire what Seungcheol meant and what conclusions he had come up to when Mingyu was stranded in this hole. It’s one with a cordial note, perhaps.

For it is with a twinge of shame that a certain pair of hands, nurturing and velvety, belonging to someone far fairer than he is, appears when Seungcheol mentioned two instead of one.

Mingyu shivers but pushes the imagery out with his best effort.

“Mingyu?”

He blinks, “Yes?”

“You’ll be out of here by tonight, we hope. I’d like you to stay near after it though. I can’t control every single one of my men, and even with my best I still need you to lay low.”

“Right.” Mingyu must’ve missed the part when Seungcheol was describing the details of the plan. His confusion must show, however small, in his face.

A sigh escapes Seungcheol. “I asked for a help from a friend. Yours, to be exact.”

At this, Mingyu frowns. His thoughts going a mile a minute as he ruminates over how Seungcheol’s words fit into the definition of a plan.

A ‘friend’ doesn’t sound much like one. At least, not when Mingyu can’t recall or imagine someone who he considers a friend, or considers Mingyu a friend, much less one that would come to his aid.

“Call it luck that he was wondering near the capitol. Was meandering around without a job and with time to spare. Maybe the universe loves you, Mingyu.”

“I doubt that,” Mingyu chuffs. “Besides, it’s impossible to be loved by something incapable of it. “

“And you call me dramatic,” says Seungcheol waving his hands between them. “Let’s stick with luck, then. If you’re so disinclined to the concept of love.”

Goading Seungcheol is fun, Mingyu finds. “I don’t think I have that either.”

“Gods. Fine. Call it whatever you want. Stop being so…disheartening,” Seungcheol almost grumbles.

“Well, I’ve been stuck in a literal shit-hole for who knows how long.”

“That’s not an excuse. And I meant in general. You’re always like this before you got stuck in this shit-hole.” Seungcheol’s eyes go wide, clear exasperation reflecting in them. “Why can’t we ever _not_ argue? This is tiring.”

It’s the disparity between them. Their ever-clashing fundamental principles and perspective but they make it work, somehow. If not for the murders, Mingyu doesn’t know what keeps Seungcheol coming back to him. He could’ve left Mingyu here for all that mattered. And Mingyu wonders if he can consider Seungcheol a friend.

“Let’s just go. We still need to discuss things.” Seungcheol sighs.

They both ascend the stairs, Mingyu trailing behind Seungcheol in an effort to keep himself from standing out even as he deems it as useless. It leads them to a darker room devoid of any light even with the afternoon sun outside, the air clearing up enough that Mingyu breathes in in abundance, disposing the putrid smell that once refuses to leave Mingyu’s respiratory system.

The layout is absurd in that the cell Mingyu stayed in had a window, yet here, the only source of light are the torches lining the wall. Several barred iron doors line the walls, Mingyu’s the farthest as they’re standing at the very end of the dark passageway.

It’s empty except for the faint sounds that are coming from said doors, but Mingyu pushes them down, ignoring the best he can.

Then he sees him.

A flutter of movement, and like a performer entering the main stage, movement slow and deliberate to emphasise their entrance, he steps out of the shadows.

“Minghao?”

☽

Mingyu can’t remember the time he’s last met Minghao. The paths in the world are long and branching enough that the occurrence of them meeting is as rare as the golden feather stitched on Minghao’s coat.

It’s as fancy as ever, shining every time the light catches it in a specific way, a whimsical reminder of one of Minghao’s adventures. The vampire had loved the far and few mythical creatures that roam the world, managing to snatch a single golden feather from a bird of old legend. Minghao, being a lover of art and beauty, sees it as a waste to leave it unseen when he decapitated the vampire.

And so, it’s always there, right above his heart. A gilded detail everyone recognises him from.

Mingyu thinks it protects Minghao from misfortunes and hopes it does. As a man whose reputation precedes him, Minghao is sure to have a lot of stifles in life.

Everyone knows Minghao as the golden hunter, skilled and silent, an opponent you never want to come across, but not Mingyu.

What Mingyu remembers are the olden days, back when Minghao was no one but a fellow apprentice he would occasionally meet. They both found a connection the moment their eyes met.

The Xu family is a longline of hunters, known for their skills and prowess in engaging vampires, incorporating a far more ancient, unique form of the arts. They’re sleek with their game, silent contenders that built the foundation of the vampire hunting world. It’s a great burden for a ten-year-old to bear.

Seeing the bruises on Minghao’s arms, a doleful mixture of blues, purples, and yellows, Mingyu understood. The tentative smile Minghao shot him when both their fathers discussed things in harsh, hushed tones was enough.

Their friendship kindled like a small flame. Mingyu didn’t think it would last, but he’s proven wrong. The fire never quite reaches the fuse, not erupting in an explosion of flamboyant camaraderie, but it burns. It keeps burning without the intention of ever going out.

It was just too small for Mingyu to remember. One thought in the midst of hundreds that Mingyu shoved into an ornate box when he meditates.

His stories with Minghao is one that is inadvertently tied with everything else that comes with his childhood. Giggles as they tripped each other, play-fights instead of training, late night escapades with their fathers fuming behind them—they’re painted with happiness.

And well, perhaps reliving some of these memories are worth the effort and pain of the others.

☽

Turns out, Seungcheol’s plan wasn’t so much of a plan but more of a gamble instead.

His heart tied into a knot the whole way through, precipitation running down his forehead and hands as the three of them enter the palace with Mingyu trailing behind, hands secured by Minghao.

A moderate number of stares and shouting later, Mingyu finds himself walking down the empty illuminated streets, a pensive Minghao in front of him. People spare them glances, but nothing more as they had more festal things to attend to.

Mingyu’s cheek is still stinging with pain, flesh imprinted with shock rather than the actual impact of the punch. It’s with gritted teeth that he controls his breathing. Minghao’s back doesn’t give much for Mingyu to see, but he knows the other is maintaining an act.

Leaving the vicinity of the town, Mingyu ventures with Minghao a long way outside the capitol walls. Down overgrown dirt paths, up an overarching hill and into a clearing right on the edge of what seems like a forest with too many dangers to travel in.

There’s a small camp in sight; a piece of thick fabric tied between two trees as a makeshift tent and an unlit pile of logs showing signs of use as they’re blackened. Minghao sits right by the fire after he started it, inviting Mingyu to join him as his face morphs into one of relief.

“I can’t believe that worked.” Minghao looks remotely offended and Mingyu has no idea why—he should be the one offended, given the situation.

“Was the punch really necessary?”

The fire crackles and highlights the amusement present in Minghao’s face, his smile lopsided as he runs a hand through his long hair. Mingyu thinks the style as eccentric, but Minghao has never made anything look odd, not even the streaks of red in his hair. The golden earrings are new, Mingyu notices.

“Yes. I still haven’t got back to you for that one time you burned my paintings,” Minghao says this in jest, not a hint of spite in his voice. “And besides, they were convinced. So yes, it was necessary.”

Hunters are spread out around the world; one would think they have a core organisation regulating them, but they don’t. All they have is a pact to not harm another, but there’s never really been a commanding hierarchy amongst them. Schools, yes, but not a system.

Only a handful is aware of this, hunters regarded in passing as coin slaves and most times nothing more causing ignorance as to how they operate. Which, even to the disbelief of most, is none.

The capitol isn’t much better about the matter. As the king is sold on Minghao’s skilful act of convincing them that their ‘organisation’ would punish Mingyu much more severely, in ways that no commoners know of, a thorough undoing of a hunter.

Perhaps it was due to Hyuk’s refusal to deal with Mingyu again. He looks more horrible than the last time Mingyu saw him, a miserable, desperate air surrounding him. Mingyu suspects something, but at least he got out unscathed, now enjoying a conversation of paintings out of all things, and with an old friend to boot.

“That was 17 years ago. I don’t see how paintings can be repaid with physical coercion.”

Mingyu remembers. Seeing Minghao prompts him to open up the box, and they come rushing in but Mingyu doesn’t do more than flinch, letting the memories flow over him.

“They were a secret only you know back then, and you made them disappear forever. Gone. Not to be seen ever again!”

“All right, I get it.” Mingyu waves his hands, a vague regret settling in. “I also owe you for this one now, don’t I?”

“Incorrect,” Minghao says, lips curling in a smile. He rummages the bag beside him and tosses Mingyu a leather water canteen. “You saved Junhui. We’re even now.”

The water trickling down his throat brings a sense of serenity, yet the image burns him. Mingyu could almost see the scene unfolding before him; the blood trailing down Junhui’s neck and arms; the stricken look on Minghao’s face; the bloodied vampire when Mingyu is done.

Mingyu felt like both a saviour and a monster at the same time, two sides raging inside him. It’s not with happiness that he isolated himself, afraid. Love burns, bright and unbridled but it casts long shadows, enough to overshadow even those with the strongest of beliefs.

“I did.” Mingyu replies.

Minghao looks up at the moon, eyes softening as he smiles. “I would never know what to do without him. I owe you my life, Mingyu, I hope you know that.”

Mingyu looks sideways, feeling burned by how Minghao’s face is shining. He doesn’t deserve this kind of gratitude, but he’s glad Minghao is alive, and Junhui is too.

“How are you and Junhui, anyway?”

“Oh, we’re doing fine. There’s no way for you to hear the news so I assume you don’t know.”

Mingyu agrees to this. “I don’t. Whatever you’re referring to.”

“We’re considering a ceremony. Soon, we hope.”

“That’s…” Mingyu pauses, a weak thump in his chest. He bats it away, surprised at the feeling. “Wonderful. More than wonderful, I’m happy to hear that. Junhui is ready then?”

“He’s as ready as he’ll ever be. Jun still has a lot of things to figure out but one thing he’s sure of is doing this.” Minghao fiddles with a necklace Mingyu didn’t notice before. A silver charm, a promise of protection. “And I know it’s something I want to do too.”

Mingyu doesn’t understand how committing to someone brings benefits in their field of work, but he respects Minghao’s decision. One biggest setback of these ties is the longing. The desire to be together, to go home and just be.

This, Mingyu is starting to understand.

“Is that why you’re not hunting? You usually busy yourself.”

At this, Minghao’s countenance turned for the bitter, a melancholic tinge in his downturned gaze.

“No.” Minghao shakes his head. “My last job was…rough.”

Mingyu doesn’t need to say anything for Minghao to continue the tale, but he moves closer, a confirmation of him listening.

“It starts like any other; a small town complaining about an undead wandering around near them. You know me, of course I’d help them, even when they look like they’re struggling to pay.”

Mingyu nods. “You always do.”

“Right, so I did, stalked out the city and I’m more surprised at what I found than anything. The vampire did nothing but skirt around the edges of the town, occasionally the roofs, but the people are spooked.”

“No kidnappings, murders—anything?”

Minghao sighs. “No, at least, not unless it’s self-defence. And the worst of it is some injuries or dazed minds.”

“That’s odd. They have other motives, then.”

“Yes,” says Minghao, lips thinning. “Turns out, the town’s been isolating a girl. The vampire’s lover, to be exact. She’s kept near the town hall, snag right in the middle and it makes it harder for the vampire to see her.”

Mingyu’s heard stories of these relationships, but most are shunned as vampire prey on humans and who in their right minds would forge a romance with them. He’s not so against them anymore.

Minghao, on the other hand, looks troubled. As if he’s done something he shouldn’t have, and it still haunts him till this day.

“It made me realise how they’re creatures with feelings as well. And with what’s going on with me and Jun, I just…couldn’t.”

Love does burn bright, but perhaps the shadows aren’t what Mingyu made them out to be.

“I understand.” He’s on Mingyu’s mind when he says this, and Mingyu doesn’t drive him away.

“You do?” Minghao’s eyebrows went past his hairline as he regards Mingyu with surprise, but it is more of relief for himself.

Mingyu nods.

“It’s frustrating. I trained my whole life for it, yet I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to kill her when she’s just trying to meet someone she loves.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Hao. You did what you think was right.”

Minghao laughs, hands coming to rest on Mingyu’s shoulder. “Love is such a strange thing, right? It’s the only damned thing that keeps this bleak world running.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s such a weird thing to wish you as well, but I do wish you’ll come to see this too. I love Junhui, Mingyu. And it changes everything.”

“I know.”

They both fall silent, Mingyu watching the fire and Minghao busying himself with what little equipment he has around the camp, setting up the roll of linen in which he will sleep. Minghao always liked sleeping in the wilderness. Even with the risk overweighing the benefits, Minghao finds the air and ambience to be calming; a symphony of nature.

A slight flutter of wings catches Mingyu’s attention. And like a gargoyle overlooking the city, Crow is there, guarding him.

When Minghao settles back in front of Mingyu, he sees that Mingyu has already stood up, intent on leaving.

“You’re not staying for the night?” Minghao asks.

“No, I wouldn’t want to disturb you.”

Minghao follows Mingyu’s line of sight to see Crow as well. “Ah, I see. You have places to be. Don’t let me keep you then.”

“I’ll try to visit you both when all of this is over, yeah?” Mingyu smiles.

Minghao smiles back, nodding for him to go. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With another change of heart Mingyu starts his journey back, a new sense of purpose in his steps. He has to return to where someone’s waiting.

☽

Mingyu expects a couple of things when he arrives, having slipped through the streets like a thief in hiding. But he doesn’t expect to see Wonwoo at the very front of his doorstep, hands gripping the door handle as though it was his lifeline.

He’s waiting for him, Mingyu realises.

Ambling up the front steps, Mingyu sends a smile up to Wonwoo, small and uncertain as to what he’s going to be met with. “Hey.”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo says, voice missing its usual serene lilt, sounding unsure. He steps back, letting Mingyu back into his home without hesitation. As if welcoming someone home.

Mingyu’s longing disperses as the smell of roses fill him in. Mingyu is about to turn back and face Wonwoo, intending to say something he doesn’t know the words to yet, but he doesn’t have to know. He doesn’t have to.

The unformed words go unsaid as Mingyu feels a warming coldness enveloping him.

And Mingyu—Mingyu feels the weight of tears in his eyes.

“You’re okay.” Wonwoo’s voice vibrates on his shoulders and it sends a tingle down his spine.

This is different. His heart races but at a sedated pace, conveying his emotions without even uttering a word. A multitude of thoughts races through his mind; It’s a crescendo of melodies, an entourage of strings and snares, vying ceaselessly for its climax and it reaches it when Wonwoo looks up at his face.

The feeling spreads and fills him and all of him is piecing back together. Kept by Wonwoo’s arms around him.

It’s unlike Seungcheol’s. Wonwoo embraces him earnestly, an almost possessive hint in his touch.

“I’m here,” Mingyu says, hands coming around after a moment of hesitation.

He knows he must smell like shit right now, but Wonwoo doesn’t seem to mind. The distance disappears again, Wonwoo’s chin resting on his shoulders and breath hitting Mingyu’s ear as he speaks again.

“You’re here.” He repeats, melting against Mingyu.

Mingyu doesn’t know where this will take him. There’s this underlying fear but Mingyu allows himself to relish the touch, the affection.

But Mingyu doesn’t need to know anything but this. It feels selfish of him to want this; to be content with Wonwoo’s arm tight around his torso, to be void of the turmoil he has carried for so long.

Perhaps it’s the fatigue finally catching up to him, but his head falls, body curling into Wonwoo’s as he settles in the crook of his neck. And if Wonwoo notices the slight dampness in his shirt, he stays quiet and keeps his hold close.

Mingyu wants to save the lives that Wonwoo cherish so much. If not for himself, then for the person snug in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thank you so much for reading and all the love! know that every single one of you is the reason behind my smile <3
> 
> i have a worry that, since i always dabble in fantasy, my writing is riddled with exposition and ends up being dull, and i'm really sorry for that.
> 
> also, i think i need a hug. got way too emotional when writing that last part there : (
> 
> -[twitter](https://twitter.com/9yuwoo)  
> -[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/9yuwoo)


	5. nihil dicit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _he says nothing_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a turbulent ride, this one.

More than anything, Wonwoo is a listener as much as he is a writer. He stays close when Mingyu speaks, hands folded and ears tuned in to Mingyu’s words, and even when there aren’t any words left to say, he keeps listening.

To the subtle hitches of breathes with every brush of their hands; to the light tiptoeing of footsteps as they make themselves at home around each other; to Mingyu’s heartbeats when they’re near.

He’s particularly fond of the last one.

Mingyu can’t recall the exact manner of how they ended up here, near, in proximity of each other, entangled with no intentions of letting go.

The night he came back passes him in a blur. It’s as if every time he returns to Wonwoo’s abode, every time he comes back to Wonwoo, he had somehow, in different ways, went through something debilitating, a piece of him lost and broken. And here, he heals.

He heals and betters himself, the cadence of Wonwoo’s voice a constant he finds himself mending in.

That night wasn’t any less. A warm bath revived every part of his sore body, soap and fragrances diluting every sin that has latched onto him down in that dungeon. These are luxuries; luxuries that Wonwoo throws away without any reservation for Mingyu.

Gods know how rare it is to be able to enjoy a lavish bath such as this. And now he knows how Wonwoo smells so nice at all times.

Then he’s back in the room again. It didn’t seem as morbid then, injuries and blood absent. Mingyu’s used to changing sceneries and momentary places so the familiarity is welcomed, even though the feeling itself is foreign, he doesn’t mind it. Soft bed, a vase of roses in the corner, the curtains swaying—it’s as he remembered.

It was merely lonely.

He’s never had any problems with it before, though he does acknowledge he’s been avoiding it, repressing it lest he starts to be burdened by it on the road. The idea of refusing this part of himself seems distant now. A fog clearing up with Mingyu discovering the joys of pleasant company.

Wonwoo wouldn’t say a word of judgement about it. He understands it, even. Having lived for so long, he must’ve greeted loneliness like an old friend, and with the way he chose to live, solitude must be no stranger.

So Mingyu sauntered out the room, down the corridor and into the candle-lit study room Wonwoo loves to be in.

“Wonwoo?”

He received no response, the flicker of a candle in an empty room the only thing greeting him as he entered. The usual stacks of books were there, along with scribbled parchments and blotted ink, but the person he was looking for is nowhere to be found.

A leather-bound book on the table drew Mingyu’s attention. Its cover is bruised, the imprints on the material a telling of how often it is used. He reached out, flicked open a few pages and stopped after peering at the contents; pages stained with ink, varying lengths and pressures but they all share intimate thoughts. Thoughts pertaining to one Wonwoo, and Mingyu feels like he’s intruding.

Then Wonwoo appeared at the door, a small trinket clutched in his hands.

In quick succession, Mingyu moved from the table to Wonwoo’s collection of books, constructing nonchalance but Wonwoo surely noticed. By the looks of his face, he didn’t mind, but Mingyu felt guilt riddle his chest.

It took a while for him to face Wonwoo, but when he did his shoulders sag back with ease. Wonwoo had a smile on his face.

“Don’t you want to rest?” He asks, head motioning to an unseen room behind him.

Rest is the only thing he ever does around Wonwoo, and it felt bizarre in the midst of what’s transpiring outside these walls. Selfish, almost. But Mingyu allowed himself this moment, this exact frame of time where he was offered a sanctuary. A holy place for him.

He wasn’t thinking of a place, really.

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“I never do, Mingyu.” Wonwoo moved to put down the trinket on the table, then returned to the door.

As Mingyu passed Wonwoo, a cold hand slithered between his, pulling Mingyu into a stop. It’s soft, grip light but firm.

“You could use my room if you want to. It has better bedding.”

All Mingyu heard was a mutual want to be in each other’s company. An offer to battle the ever-looming loneliness, an old, persistent foe that refuses to leave without the presence of another.

And Mingyu accepted, legs carrying him before he regarded the situation with any form of clarity. He found himself continuing, though.

The bed was stiff due to disuse but Mingyu didn’t say a word, only settling further in to seek comfort.

Wonwoo sat down on a reading chair near a case of books, hands already reaching out to an open one right next to a candle. Flipping several pages of the book, Wonwoo remains there without a glance to Mingyu.

Only after this did Mingyu allow himself to look at Wonwoo. Always a marvel to see, yet that night was different. There were deep lines below his eyes, skin stained a slight purple, a stark contrast to the rest of his complexion. It’s as if all the years he had behind him was starting to show.

“You look tired.”

“Do I?” Wonwoo’s eyes betray the smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but be distressed when you were gone.”

Mingyu noticed how the words aren’t barred. Not a thought hidden, splayed out in the open for Mingyu to see and hear, to discern and take into heart. Wonwoo was in full control of what emotions he showed, but he trusts Mingyu enough to share a penchant of his thoughts.

It was unlike before. And Mingyu didn’t find anything barring him as well. No walls to hold him, to keep himself from being out in the open.

They were most vulnerable, and yet—

“To see you dragged like that, blades on your back and hands bound. I—all I saw was red. I wanted to help you, wanted to do something yet I know I would only make matters worse.”

His seams are coming apart, Mingyu could almost see the threads fraying around Wonwoo.

“I didn’t know what would happen, what’d they do to you. I was _terrified_.”

Even then Wonwoo looked aghast, the shaking of his hands forcing him to put the book down as he folded them in his lap, an attempt to hide them. Mingyu didn’t see the need for that. He’d take Wonwoo without reservation, his love for the world and his conviction, his fears and faults.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything. Seeing you here in itself is a relief, but I don’t even know if you’re _here._ ”

There’s a beat of stillness that followed Wonwoo’s words, his face muddled like sand that stayed too long on shore, beaten down by the waves and eventually carried by it, leaving the bright sun. Mingyu despised it.

“Wonwoo. Do you want to join me?”

Wonwoo looked surprised, mouth slightly parted as he regarded Mingyu. “What? You know I don’t exactly sleep, Mingyu.”

“You don’t have to,” Mingyu said, putting sincerity in his words. He put up a smile, hoping it to be inviting and relaying his heart to Wonwoo.

Hesitation held Wonwoo’s body in place, staying in his chair before he rose, having thought of it in his head. He came around and stopped at the edge of the bed.

“I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“I won’t be.” Mingyu would never be, not when Wonwoo was here, not when he’s given him a place to come back to.

Mingyu doesn’t remember the exact manner in which Wonwoo came to be next to him. His heartbeat jumped, loud and clear and everything was lost. If only Wonwoo knew it only acted like this when he’s around.

The next thing he knew was that Wonwoo, having abandoned his chair and reservation behind him, was lying next to him, curling so he faced Mingyu. His red irises twinkle. Curiosity and nervousness dancing but without the difficulty of meeting his eyes anymore.

When his heartbeat ceased to imitate a festival of drums marching down a street, Mingyu reaches his hand out. He sneaked a glance to Wonwoo’s face before curling his fingers around Wonwoo’s wrist. Mingyu pulled Wonwoo’s hand closer, guided it to his chest, stopping when it was right above his honest, beating heart.

“I’m here, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo closed his eyes but didn’t remove his hand. A breath escaped his lips, winding down his whole body as if releasing all the uneasiness he’s been holding this whole time. There was a momentary squeezing of his eyes, twisting Wonwoo’s features into one riddled with affliction.

A streak of guilt flew past Mingyu, but he ignored it, not letting it ruin the moment. They would have time to sort it out. But for now, as Mingyu revelled at Wonwoo lying next to him, the sole thing he focused on even with everything else that’s transpiring was them.

That they’re near, that they’re here.

Just as Mingyu’s grip on Wonwoo’s wrist started going lax, Wonwoo moved. Blinking his stupor away, an unabashed warmness creeps on Mingyu’s chest, spreading like wildfire and he was sure Wonwoo could feel it.

It was without question that he could feel, rather than hear, Mingyu’s heart picking up again, for his forehead lay right on top of his own hand. Even with the fabric between them, Wonwoo felt so, so close. As if trying to get rid of the little amount of space left.

The thrumming in his ear was deafening but seeing Wonwoo silent and contented made Mingyu still. For all the time it took for Mingyu’s mind to halt its onslaught of thoughts, they remained that way.

“I’m sorry for this,” Wonwoo says, voice muffled. He then moved his hand, head brushing with Mingyu’s heartbeat.

As the high crashed down, Mingyu willed himself to turn and face the ceiling, prompting Wonwoo to place his ear right above his chest. Mingyu sighed and let his eyes fall shut, head lulling as Wonwoo’s weight on him turned soporific as his presence always did. And Mingyu fell into a dreamless sleep. His mind was at peace with himself and for what it’s worth, he welcomed it.

The night blurred and dawn breaks.

Right before sunrise, Mingyu wakes with the least haste aside from that one time he got injured. The fluttering of his eyelids is languid, slow as he comes back to his senses. His lips tugged even when he tries to suppress it. Wonwoo looks serene on his chest, and Mingyu hasn’t the intention to disturb it anytime soon.

He breathes out, wanting to tug his heart back in his sleeves but doesn’t.

☽ 

He finds Wonwoo in the garden, watching Cheonji grazing laxly in the far corner of the field, right under a gnarled tree that looks as mellowed as Wonwoo. Thunderclouds start to curl up in the sky, colouring the skies an ominous grey. The winds rustle the underbrush and one single harsh gust causes leaves to scramble through the air. Mingyu frowns at the sight.

Sol is a city of sun, bright and ever blazing and yet, these clouds seem right at home. Surmounting the usual sun and nesting in the dark nooks of the capitol.

“The skies seem to tell of something,” Wonwoo murmurs, sitting in a rather dilapidated chair on the porch. His eyes are unseeing of the sky as he skimmed through a thick, worn book.

Mingyu stares on, agreeing without voicing out the words and sat down on the other chair available. “Let’s hope it doesn’t concern the vampire.”

For a fraction of a second, Wonwoo’s eyebrows creased, before it returns. Mingyu takes it as his worry about the situation and thinks nothing of it. Instead, he mulls over what he should say next, thoughts of the night before and of the matters from when he got caught replaying like a broken record.

He doesn’t want to deal with the first one, not yet in the very least.

The fear trickles in like an acquaintance now that he isn’t weighed down with exhaustion, striking a deliberate hit on him. Mingyu still wants, but with Wonwoo holding him the way he did, Mingyu isn’t sure what to make of himself or of his feelings. This is all foreign and stands on uncharted territory. Rushing is the last thing Mingyu wants.

If Wonwoo remains silent about it then Mingyu doing the same shouldn’t cause issues.

So instead, Mingyu turns to the other concern that’s been plaguing his mind. Hyuk’s words come back to him in a surge of spite and bitterness.

“Wonwoo, how would you feel if all your hard work is regarded as nothing, your worth being boiled down to what you are?”

Wonwoo sets the book down, hands coming together above it.

“It feels selfish of me to worry about such things, and I shouldn’t worry about it, but I can’t help but feel angry,” Mingyu continues.

A roll of thunder resounds throughout the sky as the water starts to pelt down the ground. Cheonji canters until she’s next to the bark, sheltering herself from the rain.

The sound of the downpour is almost deafening, and Mingyu fears for what message its trying to convey. But he reels himself back to the moment, awaiting Wonwoo’s answer as the vampire’s gears seem to whirr to say something.

“Mingyu, though not in the exact same way, I understand how you feel. Do you remember what I said about my offer?”

“I do. You offered help.” Those words feel like a lifetime ago.

“Yes, though it was more to converse with you.” Wonwoo nods. “And I think that fate works wonders, bringing us together like this. I felt like you’d understand me and me you.”

“Maybe I do—we do.”

Wonwoo tilts his head, eyes downcast. “I tried to live as a person, have tried to my whole life. And as a result, I don’t fit in with my own kind, nor do I with the people.”

They are two of a kind, as they say. Not really having a place they belong to, standing right in the middle of two worlds, drifting on the line and never able to cross to either sides.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Mingyu.” There’s a seething anger underlying his words, but it dissipates before taking form. Wonwoo took Mingyu’s hand in his. “But what you are is beautiful. What you do, more than anything in the world, is a noble sacrifice few are willing to do.”

“I don’t understand,” Mingyu’s eyebrows meet, a distaste as to what Wonwoo’s saying. “You’re…”

“A monster. In everyone’s eyes I am one and that’s just the truth.”

There isn’t hesitation when he says this, no remorse or pity for himself and he says this as though it’s the universal truth, an irrevocable lie he tells himself. Although Mingyu understands, the ridges of his being painting a shape of nothing short of a monster, he doesn’t think Wonwoo is one.

“No, that’s just—If you’re one then the whole world is filled with grotesque abominations.”

“And you consider yourself one of these abominations?”

“If you haven’t noticed,” says Mingyu, tucking his hand to himself, missing Wonwoo’s coldness the instant he lets go. “I’m the lowest breed in this whole damn world.”

Wonwoo remains undeterred, countenance an image of sorrow. “It pains me. You know you have so much to yourself.”

His lips thinned, heart plummeting and Mingyu keeps the words unsaid. The loss of contact is jarring, a growing distance appearing between them. It almost goes without question that Mingyu despises this, yet he doesn’t make a move to take Wonwoo’s hand back in his.

Regret knocks at his door, telling him to just _be there_. Yet it doesn’t do much when his heart cages itself again. Fear and uncertainty slither up the walls and Mingyu knows he’d come to regret this even more in the future.

“Even to myself, Mingyu. I’ve been existing on this border for the longest of times and my life has been moving in such a tedious, slow manner. But with you”—Wonwoo shakes his head— “this feels so fast and I’m…afraid.”

Mingyu nods, head turning back to gaze at the sky as it continues to drizzle. “We both are.”

☽ 

An unholy communion, done in a veil of secrets and gospels of forbidden deeds. Mingyu hasn’t think much of it. His birth was only ever discussed in passing, venom and disgust latching to every word and Mingyu had left them in the crevices of his mind for his own benefit.

It shouldn’t have happened. People said as such to Mingyu as his father remained indifferent towards these words being thrown at his own son. The older passed it off as nothing, even when Mingyu didn’t understand back then, he knew the sneers were out of hate for him. He’d wanted his father to retaliate, to fight and deny Mingyu of these accusations, but it was futile.

Mingyu wonders if his mother would stand the opposite. He still doesn’t have an answer, not now, not ever, as it’s impossible to get one. Perhaps in a hundred years he will have one, when he passes this realm and unto the next. And even then, Mingyu isn’t even sure there’s another life waiting for him.

Rumours of how his father had without remorse, or any emotion befitting of the deed, murdered the mother of his own son in cold blood is all Mingyu remembers. It’s burned in his mind, charring its surrounding and batting away any attempt to get rid of it.

He doesn’t know the reason for this; whether his father was disgusted by himself for what he’s done, or anything else. His father never addressed it, and Mingyu’s left to vie for his own answer, not having any meaning to put into his own name and birth.

Before Mingyu had the chance to think for himself, he’s dragged into the world of hunting. Countless nights of running, brawls and training had him forgoing all these questions he had for himself and the world.

The answers never presented themselves, but instead, his father had quailed them with every lesson he spits and every move he taught.

They were drilled in his head. Mingyu was conditioned to despise a part of himself, to think of it as a monster, to repress it until it’s none but a flutter of nuisance in the corner of his painting. And for years he’s believed it to be true, even in this very moment a part of him still insists on returning to said believes.

All crumbled when he left home, house and his father left in the ashes as they came for Mingyu. He didn’t pay the price for his existence—his father did.

It comes back to him one night, but he lets it, feeling safe enough where he is to relive it.

“I’m growing senile,” his father said and Mingyu blinked awake from slumber on the cushion. “I’m not getting any younger, Mingyu.”

Mingyu sat, silent as he watched his father stand in front of the door.

“And it seems like my time is up.”

The thundering footsteps didn’t escape Mingyu, they’re approaching, and Mingyu figured it wouldn’t be long until they reach where they are.

“What do you mean, father?”

Hands around his back, tightened, skin turning ivory-white by the pressure. “Remember everything I taught you. You can’t erase the sin of yourself, nor what I’ve burdened you with. But don’t relent, be something the world can’t touch.”

“I don’t understand—“

“It’s time. They’re here and I need you to run, Mingyu.”

“I’m not ready,” Mingyu says, fear prancing around his bones.

“You are, you have to be!”

A vague tear-shaped droplet fell from his father’s face, but he said nothing more, leaving Mingyu to ignore his own burning eyes and pack.

His breath quivered, an unprecedented hollowness budding in his chest, but Mingyu kept it together. He had to. Their house had little keepsakes so Mingyu forwent everything, but a glint of silver from above the fireplace caught his attention. The fire had gone out, the embers silent as it crackled its last warmth, amplifying the dull shine of the object. His father’s dagger; small, inscrutable, accountable for countless souls.

Against his better judgement, Mingyu took it, needing something to remember everything by because unlike his father, Mingyu _wanted_ to remember. Even if his father denied it, even if not one soul acknowledges—he once belonged somewhere. He had—was given meaning.

For one instance, Mingyu stilled, drank the sight of his home one last time, burned his father’s back on the forefront of his mind. Then the spell broke, the drums of war closing in.

The buzzing sent him into overdrive, bashing through the back door like it’s a gate toward his freedom. It’s the farthest thing from it, Mingyu knew, the harsh blizzard a stark contrast to the bare comfort of his home. He ran, his vision going bleary with every crunch of snow beneath him.

Mingyu didn’t know what it meant to be himself after, the words of his father the sole guideline he clung unto for years. Until he’d heard what people had to say. Their words started to attach themselves, for Mingyu only knew them.

They’re the things he find when he meditates, every time he shoves another memory up in a compartment, or quenches down an emotion into nothing, they glide up and show themselves.

The worth he possesses had always been given by others, not by him. Whether it’s his birth, his biology, his work, his name.

And yet, when Wonwoo said he’s _beautiful,_ it didn’t feel as such. He said the word as though it comes from Mingyu himself, not correlating to any extraneous factors, not directed at any part of him except for himself, the deepest and truest part of him; his soul.

Mingyu’s lost his father’s dagger, losing the object he’s held on to for himself. He should’ve been searching for another meaning to tinge himself with, but he doesn’t even feel the need to.

It doesn’t feel like Wonwoo’s putting meaning in Mingyu. Merely unravelling a truth that’s been buried under deceit and clouds of neglect.

Mingyu feels his walls crumbling around Wonwoo, yet the seams stay. It stays, gluing together and refusing to let go and Mingyu knows it’s because of them.

Putting labels isn’t Mingyu’s forte, the circumstances convoluted enough that a single word might not suffice to define them. To define the pulses in his chest, the ghosts of Wonwoo on his skin, the feeling of belonging budding in him.

But Mingyu can trust him. A confidant in a dire situation.

☽ 

In the case of Wonwoo himself, Mingyu couldn’t find a part of him that isn’t marred. He’s a near genius when it comes to concealing them beneath a mask, though.

His life doesn’t go beyond these walls, on occasions the nearby towns and villages or forests but nothing more. Drifting around the edges akin to a phantom, not belonging, shunned by his own kind and staked at by humans. It’s a burden of a life to bear, not unlike Mingyu’s but he imagines it to be far bleaker and more wrapped in loneliness. And that’s not accounting for the number of years he’s endured it.

The years reveals itself at times, in the weight on his shoulders, in the void that are his smiles and all the purposeless moves he makes. They afflict pain whenever Mingyu spots them. A tug in his heartstrings intent on changing and salvaging what’s left of their lives pushes him to act.

Wonwoo carries the weight of his own sins, but he doesn’t have to anymore. Not alone, in the very least, as Mingyu is keen to change the way things are. As much as Wonwoo is set on making Mingyu’s life much better.

Every single thing Wonwoo has done is Mingyu’s to keep, and he’s grateful for the help he’s received throughout such a short amount of time. For seemingly nothing except for sincere kindness, no less.

One improvement at a time, Wonwoo has done so much. An inexplicable bubble of warmth blooms in Mingyu’s chest every single time he looks back at it. 

If he can deliver these feelings to Wonwoo, he would, but a fog of doubt fills the latter’s mind, preventing Mingyu from conveying them. It’s an obstacle Mingyu hasn’t had success in erasing.

“I’ve told you that I don’t _live_ , Mingyu,” says Wonwoo, eyes watching the beads of rain roll down the window, leaving Mingyu to trace the patterns of shadows the candles create on his back. “I’m here, I exist, and that’s all there is to it.”

Mingyu’s tried to hold Wonwoo together, but the creases in him seems to increase without showing signs of stopping. All the words Wonwoo has said to him ring in his head, a warm hug not leaving anytime soon, but Wonwoo—Wonwoo doesn’t see any of it.

The study is almost as dark as the thundering sky, the second day of rain weighing down every part of the room. Like a growing gloom that spreads greys and blues wherever it touches, dulling the shine of both Sol and the place Mingyu finds to be the closest thing to home.

“Wonwoo— “

“But it’s different.” Wonwoo continues to stare out the window, not meeting Mingyu’s eyes.

With his heart laid bare, Mingyu listens. Perhaps this is a result of Mingyu’s reluctance the other day before, that Wonwoo’s has taken his heart back inside, constructing a space around it.

“To care for a life; it’s different.”

Mingyu knows Wonwoo’s referring to him, it’s not difficult to figure out. Wonwoo’s turned to face him, hands folded and a small smile playing on the edges of his lips. Not a full smile, like it’s missing something—as it always does.

After a moment of scrutinising Wonwoo’s incomplete smile, Mingyu rises, legs carrying him right in front of Wonwoo. A flash of lightning illuminates both of them, rough shadows covering Wonwoo’s face and Mingyu sees everything in the harsh edges they create.

Out in the open for him. Maybe Mingyu’s the one who’s been acting foolish; Wonwoo has been there, and he’s the only one retracting everything back. Wonwoo is afraid, but he’s willing to try.

It isn’t Mingyu who initiates it, but the cold enshrouding his hands are welcomed and Mingyu squeezes back. Wonwoo still refuses to meet his eyes, choosing to see their enclosed hands instead.

“I’ve been existing, fighting for the existence of others. Perhaps for my own sake.” Wonwoo shakes his head before looking up. A defeated scarlet stare right back at Mingyu and he doesn’t know what to say. “But when it comes to you…”

Another roll of thunder rumbles and this time, Wonwoo flinches. He paints an image of vulnerability. In a streak of impulsiveness, Mingyu detaches one of his hands to reach up, his left palm resting against Wonwoo’s cheek.

Mingyu can feel Wonwoo’s breath tickle his thumb as the vampire sighs, eyelids fluttering close.

“To care for yours instead of mine, to be with you just like this, I feel like I could finally _live._ ”

The pieces fall into place as Mingyu reminisces their conversation in this very room, feeling like it took place a century ago. Some things didn’t change, though, as Mingyu has made progress on writing out the pages that is Wonwoo.

“You give the much-needed meaning between existing and living for me. Thank you, Mingyu.”

One specific thing Mingyu notes of is how Wonwoo refuses to see what impact he has, even when he’s so adamant on convincing Mingyu how he’s changing things. As though Mingyu is the sole Samaritan in both their worlds. He’s the farthest thing from it, Wonwoo having more benevolence in him than Mingyu could ever have.

It’s the cloud that hinders Mingyu from reaching Wonwoo.

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu breathes, thumb stroking across the plane of skin. “You don’t understand. I did nothing.”

“No, Mingyu.” Wonwoo comes to hold his wrist, keeping Mingyu’s hand in place, as if afraid of Mingyu letting go. “Why do you keep refusing to see yourself?”

“Because you’re doing the same thing.”

Wonwoo blinks. “What?”

“You’re doing the exact same thing. Stop doing this to yourself, Wonwoo. You say how it pains you when you see me, but do you know it hurts me as well that you say those things like you don’t matter?”

Mingyu almost said them in one breath, breathing a bit heavy due to the outpouring of words. They needed to be said, and he doesn’t regret it one bit. Until he sees Wonwoo, that is.

Turning away, Wonwoo hides his face in Mingyu’s palm. The rain drops still splatter against the glass, creating a beat that fills the silence for them.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says, mouth obstructed by Mingyu’s hand and the words came out muffled.

Mingyu feels every movement Wonwoo’s lips made, and he might as well be a walking drum with the way his heart is pattering. He fights it with a smile, turning Wonwoo’s face so they were facing each other once more. At least, he had another subject to focus on this way.

“Then, can you not think that way? It isn’t easy, but I’m here. A living proof of your compassion.”

“Mingyu, I ask of you the same thing.”

There’s an air of finality in those words, an invitation to stay and be. Though Mingyu hasn’t thought of it through, the fear clinging on his back like part of skin, he finds himself not minding. Wishing the promise to pull through.

“Sure.”

The seams are mending themselves and Mingyu keeps it together, keeps it until a smile graces Wonwoo’s features, this one without anything missing.

☽ 

Only in the fourth day does the endless torrent of rain stops bruising down the lands of Sol as the sun peeks out in the corner of the sky, gifting warmth and longed for light to those awaiting them.

The birds are chirping right outside the house, wind breezing through the open windows and sun sucking out any uncomfortable moisture that were in the air.

It should have brightened Mingyu’s mood as well, but he can’t get rid of the queasiness set deep in his stomach. Call it a supernatural intuition, he’s trusted it on several occasions and his gut feelings had never disappoint. It’s a tell-tale sign of things to come, and Mingyu’s more afraid than he should be. He has something to uphold now, after all.

So, as he navigates his way through Wonwoo’s house, he kept an alertness in his stance. It’s a slow evening, and Mingyu knows that searching for the murderer on the loose is the brightest option he has, since he’s in full health and with a stable foothold in the world now, yet he can’t do much. Not with Seungcheol’s warning of laying low; he doesn’t know whether his head would be staked on sight, still.

He’ll be back for the banquet, hoping the tension to have dissipated by then and the festivities to conceal his presence. It’s an open buffet if Mingyu’s ever seen one, and he understands why Seungcheol asked for his help on that night in particular.

Going over this matter with Wonwoo passes his mind, and Mingyu is on his way to talk. He figures it’s the right time to bring it up again.

Their relationship is a wonderful progression to witness but the world hasn’t given the liberty of time for them yet. Mingyu can wait.

As he arrives at where he expects Wonwoo to be—the study, without doubt—he finds himself a room devoid of any person. Wonwoo must’ve went out for a stroll, or whatever part of his routine Mingyu hasn’t figured out yet.

His eyes found the book again, the one he saw the other night, as if drawn to it. A tug in his chest tells him to not peek but the feeling in his stomach compels him to take a look.

Shame crawls all over Mingyu’s skin as he makes his way to the desk, hand hesitating as he takes the weighted book in his hands. He traces the spine of the book, before flipping it open.

His heart drums in his ear as he watches a flurry of parchment spill from the book. The twisting in his stomach only grows more rampant.

Picking one up, Mingyu finds a neat cursive writing on top of it. Wonwoo’s, he presumes.

_‘Dear Jisoo,’_

Mingyu frowns at the unfamiliar name, setting the book down so he can open the parchment fully.

_‘I know the world’s been trying you, and I assure you I will do anything to help._

_I haven’t the slightest idea why or what reason you have to do such horrible things, but please, stop this monstrosity, Jisoo.’_

His ears start to ring, teeth biting down his lips to keep him from uttering anything out.

_‘You’ve received my previous letters; my crow tells me as such so don’t try to deny it. Tell me what burdens you and I will aid you, even if it means sacrificing my own peace.’_

Mingyu sets it down, eyes reading the rest of the letter as his whole body turns numb. Cold enwraps him, enclosing on him and Mingyu shivers.

The last paragraph of the letter resounds in his head, but he can’t—doesn’t want to hear it. He feels the strength seep away from his legs, so he makes his way to the red cushion, letting himself collapse on top of it.

He’s watched the hourglass fill with sand these past few days, feelings overflowing him as he finds himself moving forward with time, instead of dwelling in the past.

And it was Wonwoo who filled him.

But maybe it was too much too fast, the sand overflowing and breaking itself free out of its encasement. What function does a broken hourglass have?

It’s as if time has never passed, and Mingyu’s back in the very first night he was hired for these murders. Alone, without anyone else behind his back.

Mingyu closes his eyes, attempting to reign his frantic breathing. A tang of copper fills his mouth and he bleakly realise he’s bitten himself to blood. He doesn’t wipe it off from his chin.

It’s a jumble of thoughts Mingyu has to fight through, sparks about to start a fire and burning down everything he knows. Had Wonwoo lied to him? Mingyu shakes his head, a huff of frustration escaping him.

Returning to the one habit that has pulled him above the water so many times before, Mingyu sits cross-legged. His hands tremble so he presses them above his thighs, controlling the erratic shaking of his whole body.

When Mingyu reopens his eyes, it’s dark. Without anyone igniting the candles the room is left to dance in the night’s darkness.

Mingyu can see, though, and so he doesn’t miss Wonwoo arriving in a billow of smoke.

His heart stills, slow and indifferent and with no interest in the person in front of him. There’s none of the surprise or whatever feeling he was experiencing earlier; it was burning him from the inside and he flung it away when he meditated. Mingyu just feels cold.

“Mingyu?”

Wonwoo approaches him but Mingyu meets him halfway. Their proximity feels different, and Mingyu wonders if Wonwoo can sense it.

There isn’t a part of Mingyu that wants this; to swallow everything that has happened between them; to confront Wonwoo as though he’s a foe. Yet Mingyu can’t help himself, he wants to know _why_.

The trail of blood’s crusted now, and Wonwoo notices it with horror marring his face. Wonwoo reaches out, thumb brushing Mingyu’s chin. “What happened?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer, only observing Wonwoo in front of him. Curling his hands, Mingyu hides his shaking. He can’t show such weakness.

After not receiving anything, Wonwoo finally glances to his eyes. Mingyu hasn’t the idea what Wonwoo sees in them, but Wonwoo retracts his hand, now hesitant. “Mingyu, what’s wron— “

“Wonwoo.” Mingyu searches the other’s eye, and finds fright tinting them. His heart dives and Mingyu feels betrayed. “Who’s Jisoo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, yes. 
> 
> midterms next week so next chapter might be a bit delayed! thank you for reading, as always <3
> 
> -[twitter](https://twitter.com/9yuwoo)  
> -[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/9yuwoo)


	6. sic infit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _thus it begins_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight descriptions of injury ahead!

It was theoretically impossible for someone to rip Mingyu’s heart from underneath his ribcage.

Dozens have tried, and Mingyu remembers the horror that dawned on each of their faces as they failed to do such.

Yet at this very moment, in what is perhaps Mingyu’s greatest lapse of judgement in his lifetime, he feels what it would be like if one of them had succeeded. And the perpetrator is one with a disturbingly similar shape to Wonwoo. One who knows the precise way to make it as painful as imaginable.

It is _him._ It is Wonwoo _;_ a part of Mingyu just refuses to acknowledge such a repulsive idea. Clinging to the faint coldness that has moulded itself to be a second skin to Mingyu, a part of him that he held dearly.

There’s a gaping void forming in the very middle of his sternum, dark and endless, raving to consume Mingyu in on himself, expanding with every denial Mingyu’s mind is spouting. It feels near familiar.

“He’s a friend,” Wonwoo says.

A coldness travels down Mingyu’s spine, and it’s not from Wonwoo standing in front of him. Mingyu shivers.

“And this friend is a vampire? One that has done ‘horrible’ things and needs to be stopped?” Mingyu asks, voice an unfitting cadence of calmness, gaze unwavering on Wonwoo.

The tears glimmer in the darkness, red clouded by guilt and unconcealed fear. Wonwoo looks away, tumbling back a few steps with a lack of grace that is uncharacteristic of him.

Mingyu doesn’t need the answer to be said.

It’s as though a sword has cleaved him in half, the wound bigger, nastier, and far more irrevocable than the one he got from Seungcheol. If there was effort to keep Mingyu together, it has almost all but evaporated in a smoke of betrayal.

“Tell me, this monstrosity you write of—does it include taking the lives of two noble ladies, and a couple others before them?”

Almost blending in with the darkness of the room, Wonwoo shakes his head, “You don’t understand, Mingyu.”

A single drop of water trails down Wonwoo’s cheek, catching the moonlight and reflecting it on its fall, then it splatters on the ground, dispersing like pieces of broken glass. Putting it back together appears to be a gruelling path, as some parts are lost for eternity.

They burn. Both his eyes burn at the sight but Mingyu keeps the tears from spilling. He can’t afford to lose any more pieces of himself, he hasn’t the ability to retrieve it, nor even the will to pursue its retrieval if he does lose them.

So, Mingyu swallows the lead in his throat, welcoming the insistent burning like he would a long-lost lover.

“What part do I not understand, Wonwoo?”

“He’s a friend of mine.”

“You’ve said that.”

“Will you listen if I were to talk further?” Wonwoo asks, back touching the bookshelf behind him.

It’s as far as he can go away from Mingyu. A rift presents itself between them, a tantalising lure to being strangers once more. Mingyu lets it be there but doesn’t give in to it.

“Sadly, yes,” says Mingyu, “I was always willing to listen to you.”

Something between a laugh and a sob slips from Wonwoo’s mouth, body curling in on himself, hands wounding around, holding himself together. The sight rends Mingyu’s battered heart even further.

“I guess you won’t be so open to it anymore now, but thank you,” Wonwoo says, a bitter smile marring his lips.

A harsh intake of breath, and Wonwoo stands up straighter, hands remaining in place. There’s an infinitesimal quivering that seems to rattle him, and Mingyu watches as everything they’ve built show signs of crumbling. And it’s not only for Wonwoo.

Mingyu can’t put strength into his legs anymore, but he stays, has a job he needs to finish.

“Jisoo is an old friend, a dear one. We’ve helped each other for centuries and never in those years had he shown such an…inclination to violence and blood.”

“You’re implying there’s something else going on.”

“Yes.” Wonwoo nods, eyes closing. “He would never do this, not by his own free will. Something greatly troubling must’ve happened to him.”

There’s a twinge of sympathy that makes itself known in Mingyu. He knows Wonwoo isn’t a liar, and even as the situation changes and his trust is waning, he believes there’s a semblance of truth in those words.

But Mingyu can’t afford to care; no matter what predicament Jisoo has entangled himself into, he’s a murderer accountable for all the lives lost in these past few weeks. It’s Mingyu’s job. He needs to do it.

For it appears that Wonwoo has no intention to help him do so.

“As much as I hate to admit that I believe those words, I need to put an end to this.”

At this, Wonwoo pales, rushes towards Mingyu in a flash of motion that almost escapes Mingyu's vision. Holding both of Mingyu’s arm, the anguish palpable, Wonwoo let the shackles free, reservation no longer an option.

“Please, I gave you what you want, Mingyu. Can’t I ask for the same, just this once?”

The vines growing and suffocating his heart is insurmountable, holding Mingyu rooted. It’s hard to breathe—to think. There’s an ongoing conflict inside of him, reducing him to shambles of himself.

“What I want?” Mingyu asks. “You roamed inside of my head that one time, and this is how you make of it—using it against me?”

“No— “

“Tell me then, what is it that you think I want?”

Wonwoo’s hands holding him are searing. Mingyu doesn’t fight away the touch, however, as a part of him wants to stay close, to embrace this horrid reality away.

“A place, safety— I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“I didn’t ask for any of those. You gave them freely,” Mingyu says, teeth gritted, “but I’m not so sure anymore, now. Was all this so you could keep your friend under my radar? Was everything a fucking lie? You had other intentions all along, didn’t you?”

The grip falters, Wonwoo transforming into a despondent statue in front of him. Mingyu’s hands twitch at the loss, but they don’t reach out to keep Wonwoo, stayed chained by the sprawling numbness.

“You bent the truth.”

“No, Mingyu…” Wonwoo trails off. All the fight left in him ebbs away, eyes closing again and this time, the tears fall without care, his lips trembling as he speaks. “It wasn’t a lie. I do lo— I do care for you. More than I have anything in centuries.”

Mingyu breathes, a single, weighted drop also falling from his eye.

“I don’t know what to do, Wonwoo.”

Mingyu doesn’t know. He thought he was coming to stand somewhere, but now, as he faces away from Wonwoo, every step carving another part of his heart to singe, Mingyu has lost the notion. He’s adrift, aimless once more.

The darkness of the room deepens the space, Mingyu condemning himself to the frailty of his heart. There are no seams to uphold anymore.

Both of them are silent, an unplanned concurrence as they ought to say things, to fight for what’s left in shambles. Yet they didn’t.

For what felt like hours, there’s nothing but the smothering tension between them. And as such, when Wonwoo breaks the silence, his small voice rings clear in Mingyu’s ears.

“Will you forgive me if I show you where he resides?”

☽ 

Wonwoo knows where Jisoo has been hiding.

It’s not only the secret messages Wonwoo has been keeping from him that Mingyu hasn’t the knowledge of, but also of the exact abode where the villain he’s been chasing is dwelling.

Mingyu doesn’t know what to make of it.

Hyuk is hiding something, Mingyu’s sure of the fact, but he didn’t foresee Wonwoo to also partake in the same act. Hiding things behind a facade. Concealing it behind everything he does.

It’s an intricate, confusing thing to figure out.

Everything wasn’t out of sheer selfishness, though. Mingyu’s heart more than his brain convinces him of this. Touches, gazes, smiles; they all feel too genuine for it to be mere distractions.

The moonlight paints Wonwoo in a shimmering lustre, yet it burns on Mingyu’s back as he follows Wonwoo without a sound. They’re up on a small hill, the ground crunching beneath them, thick trees the only witness to their wordless venture out in the woods.

A bit dazed, Mingyu’s eyes stayed on the soles of Wonwoo’s feet. His heartbeat is slow, yet it’s unusual, ladened with a heaviness Mingyu can’t get rid of. It’s not steady due to his impassive nature, but of reluctance on continuing to beat instead.

If Wonwoo is aware of the discrepancy growing in Mingyu’s heart, which wouldn’t possibly escape his hearing, then he chooses to not say a word.

Mingyu has nothing to gauge whatever Wonwoo is going through, for his heartbeat is unchanging. The same as it has been a millennia ago. Almost non-existent, a phantom of a heart in place, silent as it lets nothing loose out of its sealed lips.

Nothing bodily of Mingyu escapes Wonwoo. Mingyu is an open book to the vampire, visible without any walls barring Wonwoo from seeing his blotted pages. Even the shameful reds in the corner wouldn’t hide themselves.

It isn’t fair. A part him needs to know whether all of this matter to Wonwoo as much as it does to him.

Wonwoo doesn’t exude raw menace and power like other vampires. Mingyu remembers the first night they met when he noticed this. And yet, perhaps all this time, Wonwoo’s been burying a far more sinister card up his sleeve.

A lurer of hearts with hooks aimed for woe.

“We’re here.”

Wonwoo stops right in front of where the trees got thicker, nothing but shadows dare play in the pitch-black grove right ahead. Pale, flickering blue lights can be seen. It reeks of magic, air loaded with an ominous haze.

None of them continues forward, both standing at the last edge of land the moonlight touches. Tension grips Wonwoo’s shoulders. With his back turned, Mingyu’s left to do nothing but watch.

As he stares at Wonwoo, Mingyu feels the burn beneath his eyelids returning.

He despises a part of himself. His father painted it with such appalling colours that it stained deep and heavy. The words Wonwoo gave were the paint that dappled it with wondrous colours, but they’re fading.

And Mingyu’s almost back to where he was, just shy of the starting line without any semblance of his own conviction.

He forgets that whatever makes up half of him—the twisted, monstrous parts—makes up Wonwoo as a whole.

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo asks, eyes dripping with worry at Mingyu’s rigid stature.

No. Mingyu doesn’t want to agree with his own raging thoughts. Not when the look of hope and compassion in those scarlet is more than Mingyu’s capable of.

Seeing Wonwoo as someone terrible feels utterly wrong.

Mingyu shakes his head, willing the whispers to go away and strides forward, boots stepping over the ashen ground. The darkness envelopes him, Wonwoo following closely behind.

Shadows Mingyu saw earlier takes clearer forms, and he sees the carved limestones scattered around the path. Tablets of the deceased; names long forgotten inscribed with messages of well regards. It’s a graveyard.

The blue torches illuminate them with an eerie glow, casting shadows that dance as though mocking Mingyu, glee in their movements as Mingyu travels deeper down the grove.

In any other situation, Mingyu would snort at how typical of a lair this is. But he only feels dread biting at his nape, and Wonwoo’s silence does nothing but add to his sense of impending danger.

A bigger structure lies ahead, looming and buzzing with an energy Mingyu can’t pinpoint the source of. Gargoyles atop the columns stare back at him as he scans the mausoleum.

His heart picks up a pace, thrumming inside his ribcage as he approaches the site with trepidation, not a single breath escaping his lungs.

Will Wonwoo turn to despise him if he goes through with this?

He needs to. Mingyu wants nothing but to have another heart to heart, to hold close and turn away from the world with Wonwoo. To thumb through his pages once more. Yet he needs to see this through.

There’s a burden he’s holding. A responsibility of what could be hundreds of lives and Mingyu’s been gripping it, tight and unrelenting.

Those are lives Wonwoo cherishes, and he’s sure the vampire still see them as such. His warm, helping clutch around Mingyu’s hand is wavering, though, and Mingyu fears for the worst.

He’s unarmed, but Mingyu’s willing and ready to rip a heart out with his bare hands if he has to. Even if it was his own.

Returning his focus on the task at hand, Mingyu reaches the mausoleum and stops.

He doesn’t hear it coming.

He should’ve seen it, far before he got this far, but he didn’t.

“Mingyu!”

The searing heat of fire flies past Mingyu. His heart drops, bracing for impact. Instead of moving—Mingyu knows he should—he stays still, puts his arms up in front of his face, and closes his eyes.

But nothing came, his body devoid of any pain.

Mingyu jerks away at the strong smell of burning flesh. It isn’t his, and bile rises to his throat as his mind scrambles to the only other possible person the spell might have hit.

Nothing short of horror consumes him as a whole as he witnesses Wonwoo flinch forward in pain, falling towards Mingyu.

As Wonwoo hits Mingyu’s chest with a force that knocks both of them backwards, Mingyu steadies them. His hand doesn’t go around Wonwoo’s back, careful, holding both his arms instead. There’s a hollowing pain in Mingyu’s gut.

Before Mingyu could say anything, or even assess whatever has happened, Wonwoo stops him.

“I’m fine.” Wonwoo pushes himself off of Mingyu, hands weak as he detaches himself, but he persists, nonetheless.

Mingyu’s breath hitches, eyes coming down to see the state Wonwoo’s back is in as Wonwoo turns. Florid skin greets him, harsh and angry, a contrast to what remains of his dark coat.

“You’re not,” Mingyu says, hands reaching forward again. “At least— “

“It’ll heal,” Wonwoo cuts him off, stepping away. “Let’s just continue.”

It’s Mingyu’s fault.

In a feat of his own twisted thoughts, he’s missed the slight shift in the air, the upsurge of magic as it recognises them as trespassers. The darkened swirl of ill intent is visible and yet Mingyu fails to see it. And Wonwoo’s paid the price for it.

For his carelessness. For his utter stupidity of not noticing something he should have. Not even his revered senses worked—useless.

“Stop.” Mingyu seizes Wonwoo’s hand, pulling him back. “Just stop for a moment.”

Wonwoo staggers, but despite his pained gait, his eyes bore into Mingyu’s. There’s no hesitation for them to meet unlike before. As if he doesn’t want to hide anything anymore.

“This is important for you. It’s better for us to go forward.” Wonwoo retracts his hand.

“Wonwoo…” Mingyu says but the words die out.

Mingyu doesn’t hate Wonwoo, could never hold these tainted feelings for him. His mind whirls as though it’s cleaved in two, and yet Mingyu can’t bring himself to feel as such. In spite of the lies he tells himself earlier.

“I still don’t know how to feel about all of this, about you, but _fuck, s_ top doing that. You’re tearing me apart.”

Limbs weighed down by sorrow and fear, Mingyu steps forward, reaches out for Wonwoo and captures him again before he can move away.

“I don’t know what to even think right now.” Mingyu’s voice trembled without meaning to. “But I also don’t know what to do if I lost you due to some foolish mistake I’ve made.”

It’s a wish Mingyu desperately wants Wonwoo to fulfil; to see himself. They’ve talked about this, even with the chasm in place Mingyu wouldn’t want to abolish all they’ve done.

He cares for Wonwoo, unabashedly so, more than he has anyone, and he would only be lying to himself if he says otherwise.

“Please.”

“Why?” Wonwoo doesn’t try to fight anymore, but the reluctance and doubt is there. “Why are you still acting like this? Why are you addressing me with value?”

The coldness is persistent on Mingyu’s back. “I should hate you, or anything—something. But I can’t. I can’t force forgiveness, but I simply can’t see you in such light.”

Wonwoo, cold hands weary and eyes not straying once, doesn’t say a word. His lips part but then shut without enunciating a single sound.

Then, as soon as it appears, the chance loses itself.

A caw from above them reverberates in the air, one of Wonwoo’s crow warning them of the brewing magic in their vicinity. The shrill voice cuts through the night. This time, Mingyu reacts.

Mingyu lunges, passes Wonwoo’s enfeebled body and lands a blow with his hand to the single simmering torch adjacent to the mausoleum. 

The tension dissipates along with the cloak of magic in the air. Mingyu’s shoulders hunch down as the once proud sentry crumbles in a splinter of rocks and gems before him.

For a moment, the world quiets down and Mingyu revels in it.

“I need some time.”

The voice distant and weak even in the stillness, Mingyu glances behind his back to find Wonwoo facing him with a budding flicker of perseverance.

“I…I know I don’t deserve it, not after what I’ve done. And I’m not asking for forgiveness—for you to forgive me,” Wonwoo says.

Fully turning, throbbing hand still curled into a fist, Mingyu holds Wonwoo in a stare. “Then?”

“I want to help you, as I have promised. As I first intended to do. So, I’m asking you for time,” says Wonwoo, moving near the entrance of the mausoleum. “For me to face Jisoo.”

“We don’t have that much freedom.”

It falters again, Wonwoo’s determination. Visible in the way Wonwoo intakes a short breath, fangs peeking out to bite his lips but retreats back before they did.

“I know.” Wonwoo’s voice thins out at the end, eyes downcast.

One truth goes without question; Mingyu needs him. As though Wonwoo has a smouldering hold over his heart. He wants Wonwoo through this ordeal but they don’t have much time.

The promise is what started their endeavours, their cordiality and flourishing companionship. Although it has, amongst other things, been losing its significance as the foundation of their relationship as they find other, more important reasons that results in them wanting to be together, Mingyu hopes for it to stay true.

In the case where Wonwoo ghosts the premise of his own promise, then Mingyu would continue moving either way. Albeit missing a jarring piece of himself.

With a sense of dread prancing around his already convoluted feelings, Mingyu steps into the mausoleum.

After a moment, Wonwoo follows suit, steps better and firmer than they were a minute ago. Whatever little colour has returned to his face as he hovers over Mingyu. A protective tinge to his approach.

There’s no other trick awaiting them, however. Not that Mingyu would let another escape him and land on Wonwoo.

It’s empty, rows and columns of what’s supposed to be filled with tombs are strewn with dust and cobwebs. Torches line up the wall, with mundane red flames burning on them instead of the bewitched blue up front.

At the end of the space stands a dilapidated door, barely hanging on its hinges. Through it, Mingyu feels a rush of air and he reaches it to find a descending tunnel.

He wouldn’t call it a stairway, steps far too indiscernible from the surrounding rocks to warrant such title. It’s old, Mingyu can tell as much, perhaps preceding even Sol. And he doubts Jisoo was the one who carved it.

“He’s not here,” Wonwoo informs from behind him.

The wind from below carries no scent, and Mingyu gives a nod of confirmation.

It defeats a lot of Mingyu’s reason to come to this foul place, but he descends the tunnel all the same. He only allows heedful steps forward, shielding Wonwoo the best he can as his ears tuned in for any form of sound and change of pressure.

The last step of the tunnel opens up to a spacious cave. Its ceiling is high enough to fit two of Mingyu. Scattered are a few candles, charmed to keep burning despite the moisture and neglect.

After a furtive scan around the place, confirming that there’s no one besides the two of them, Mingyu lets his body loosen. Just a tad bit. Leaving enough alertness in case a phantom decides to pay them a visit without warning.

Wonwoo brushes past Mingyu, eyes searching. His back comes into view again, and though it’s a far cry from before, Mingyu looks away, distracts himself with the dusty shelves on his left.

In the very least, Wonwoo is recuperating. He can’t say the same for himself, mind more muddled than before.

Still, Mingyu thinks the confusion and pain is better than the null void he was hours ago.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo calls. He’s hunched over a work desk, empty except for a candle and the pieces of parchment in Wonwoo’s hands.

Closing the space between the two of them, Mingyu peers over Wonwoo’s shoulders. “What is it?”

Neat inscriptions paint the parchment Wonwoo’s holding, the rest of them depicting the same writing. The messages on them carry authority, curt commands written out in red-stained ink.

“He’s being threatened,” Wonwoo says, handing Mingyu one. “Someone is holding this _‘him’_ captive.”

The small letter tells Mingyu as much and an inkling of a lead is starting to form, along with questions.

“I don’t understand,” says Mingyu, “Jisoo is skilled. He should have more than enough to take on whoever is threatening him.”

“They must have a crutch on him—whatever it may be.”

Moving on to the next possible trace, Mingyu furrows his brows. “Do you have any idea who might be held against Jisoo?”

“No—“ Wonwoo shakes his head, as if denying a reality unknown to Mingyu “—I haven’t met Jisoo in decades and he’s not garish in what he does.”

A lost cause with no leads to chase, then.

Mingyu shuffles through the next few pieces of parchment, until he spots one with a considerably lighter colour—new, not too long ago.

His eyes discern the message held in his hand, and as the words play inside Mingyu’s head, he feels a thud in his chest. Beginning signs of worry taking form in the base of his

“No. I knew it.” Mingyu breathes through his teeth. “We need to go.”

It’s all the confirmation Mingyu needs. Jisoo won’t stop until Mingyu does him in first, and whoever is behind the screen—whoever is pulling the strings of this morbid, twisted play on lives—has laid out a ground for Jisoo to play in. And he’s the sure winner. No matter his willingness to participate.

Wonwoo stays quiet as he reads, brows rising in a form of disbelief.

The banquet is a bloodbath. Mingyu has had the hunch ever since the first time Seungcheol mentioned the banquet.

“I need to stop him, Wonwoo. I can’t risk anything else.”

“Wait, Mingyu. It doesn’t have to end in blood.” Desperation slithers its way in Wonwoo’s voice. “You’re aware of this.”

Mingyu meets Wonwoo’s eyes, both baffled and infuriated. “Why are you defending him so fiercely? He even hurt you before.”

It was first time Mingyu has seen red for someone else, an intensity he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. The memory is vivid even now, and Mingyu wishes he could rid himself of the grudge but it’s not easy.

“It was in self-defence. I took him by surprise.”

Mingyu closes his eyes, gathers his bearings the best he could in this cold cave.

There’s no use in waging an argument with Wonwoo, for he seems to be steadfast in his wish. His benevolence is a gift, but it presents itself as an obstacle in this very moment.

One side of Mingyu understands. He would cross the whole continent if it meant keeping a dear one safe. Perhaps, in an unintentionally aggravating way, this was Wonwoo’s form of that same sentiment.

So, even when his heart feels betrayed, even when he feels like he lost the place where he could be defenceless, even when he feels as though there’s no rebuilding what they’ve both burned—Mingyu would give Wonwoo a chance.

In hopes of having all of those return to him. One, single selfish desire.

“Send a crow to Seungcheol.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies, it's full steam ahead from now on!
> 
> also, please accept my sincere love and thanks. thank you for staying with this fic!
> 
> -[twitter](https://twitter.com/9yuwoo)  
> -[curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/9yuwoo)


	7. fortiter et fideliter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _bravely and faithfully_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's late; apologies if there are any mistakes, will check it in the morning!

There are certain matters pertaining to himself that Mingyu so grudgingly despises in all the years he had lived.

How he sees the world with eyes unclouded that no single misery nor suffering escapes his notice. How, in every waking hour, a constant strife makes effort to make itself known within him. And in his lowest moments, when he’s met with the choice of two evils, forced to make a decision without a single regard about his own demons, how he seems to have gotten the worst of both sides that make him as a whole, complete though fallible being.

The vulnerable, selfish side of humanity; cursed with their ardent emotions; driven to action without thought in a lot of instances, whether it be for love or hatred.

Also with the same intensity does the apathetic nature of vampires grip him; the view of how insignificant and feeble lives can be; a view only the promise of eternity could elicit out of a person.

Both Mingyu isn’t fond of, and he’s able to find more horrid things about himself.

The list forms itself, now, that he hasn’t anything left to keep. Raw and bare, a nearly defenceless hunter faced with an impending event that would cause consequential change at the tip of his sword.

Never had he let these flaws and shortcomings bother him. But perhaps he is running out of space to keep them from vexing his judgement.

He’s left Wonwoo, despite all the protests clinging to the very last threads of his will. The faded mask of colours fluttering away to unveil what Mingyu has been for the longest time; a vagabond meandering the world for meaning.

Wonwoo said he needs time, and though a thorn started to sprout near his lungs, Mingyu’s given him it. Steps weighted and deliberate as he seeks Seungcheol.

A lingering sense of faith remains, yet its glimmer is fading, along with the knowledge that it is near impossible to resolve this without spilt scarlet.

Mingyu isn’t a believer that a life should be held accountable for another life. He isn’t innocent, his hands are tarnished with all that he’s done, and it won’t ever be sanctified, not as long as his heart still beats and breaths leave out of his lungs.

As much as he wants Wonwoo back, desperate in patching up what’ve been ripped in an attempt of atonement, he knows it’s the worse option. What would be the price for letting a murderer lose? Of going against everything he has worked on?

But he wants to try. Wants to disregard the horrors he had seen with his own eyes.

Mingyu is in love with an idea of a sin.

Even more deeply rooted for the man planting such impetus within him.

It’s unwise to choose this; both his consciousness and mind tells him as such. Yet a faint whisper, a murmur of sweet poison, a wish coming from his heart assures him of the rightness in it.

Muddled thoughts permeating inside of his head, Mingyu has a hard time blending into the shadows of the streets of Sol.

A few people are still wandering around despite the wee hours of morning, the remains of festal dancing, food and alcohol palpable in their gleeful faces. Guards are stationed in their posts and some are patrolling the area, keeping a vigilant eye on every corner.

There are more than before, Mingyu notices, and he remembers the upcoming celebration that will take place. His ears ring and heart drops. It isn’t a celebration as much as it is a massacre.

He doesn’t have much time, and this realisation prompts his heart to slow down, breaths coming in regulated intervals. The air is crisp, his vision coming back to its unobstructed view.

His years are coming together to give him a fleeting push to continue. For ages, he had gone through inexplicable journeys, handicapped in a handful of them, and Mingyu ought to think this as another one.

It’s different as the impairment is something intangible and nowhere near physical. Harder in a way, affecting Mingyu more than any wounds or injury could. But he knows how to do this and subdues the pain down with the years of practice.

Mingyu isn’t alone anymore, as he has Seungcheol waiting for him. Someone who needs him, and, from what Mingyu has gone through, someone he can rely on. They would figure this out.

His drive carries him through the winding streets, slipping out of the guards’ view as he rounds every corner with precision. Up and along he goes, legs burning as he manoeuvres, until a familiar, towering structure enters his vision.

The once guarded entrance of Sol’s watchtower is now deserted, the last of the guards heading back North to the palace. Hearing and smelling no one else, Mingyu slips from his cover and enters without anyone seeing.

As he trudges up the circular stairs, the push runs out, and a smoke manifests inside his lungs and Mingyu stops, almost suffocating. His hand comes to support him on the stone walls. It’s as though a myriad of cavalries are weighing him down. This is disrupting Mingyu more than he hoped it would.

Allowing himself a minute of recollecting his scattered pieces, Mingyu takes a deep breath. There’s nothing to be afraid of, Seungcheol wouldn’t attempt anything that would cause distraught in Mingyu. Not that he had as much power as Wonwoo had over him.

Time continues whether he’s ready or not, and so he forces himself to be. His legs almost giving in as he continues upward.

He finds the captain atop the tower, as he was told by a crow, folded hands resting on the balustrade overlooking the city. Mingyu lets the door creak open to signify his presence.

“Mingyu,” Seungcheol greets, countenance welcoming, “It’s been some time. And by gods, that crow freaked me out! I’ve never seen magic like that, nor experienced it.”

“Yeah, it’s not your everyday magic, isn’t it?” Mingyu muses, recalling the night where his fate twisted in an amusing way, intricate in its ways to put Mingyu in this very moment. “Quite an experience.”

“It isn’t and it is.” Seungcheol shakes his head as Mingyu joins beside him. The captain takes a second to glance Mingyu’s way, eyes far too scrutinising and Mingyu looks away. “You have something important to deliver, I reckon.”

Mingyu nods. “I do.”

Seungcheol hums. “As much as I want to divulge in whatever news you brought, I can’t.”

“What?” Mingyu asks, brows furrowing as he turns to Seungcheol. “Why?”

The captain purses his lips, stares at Mingyu and says nothing. There seems to be an unsaid argument inside of his head, as for some time, Seungcheol stays that way, face conflicted.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks again.

Then, with a sense of finality, Seungcheol’s hand clamps down on Mingyu’s shoulder. He squeezes, “Are you okay?”

Mingyu opens his mouth but closes it back down. Saying yes would’ve been his usual choice, and he’s tempted to say the word, a devilled thought telling him to do so.

Yet any denying of the turmoil inside feels like a waste of his efforts. He doesn’t have the capacity to, and Seungcheol is someone he trusts.

“No.” Mingyu glances away. It’s shame that applauds him at this moment of vulnerability.

Seungcheol doesn’t let Mingyu suffer for it though, no looks of revolt, only surprise colouring his wide eyes. Perhaps for Mingyu’s honesty, more than anything.

“Did something happen?” He asks, hand sliding down to hold Mingyu’s upper arm in reassurance.

Not a single word comes out of Mingyu’s mouth despite his inclination to do so. He shuts his eye, feeling the heat returning behind his eyelids.

“Right, forgive me. That question was unnecessary and stupid.”

“No, it’s fine, I need to tell you,” Mingyu says, blinking away the moisture.

A frown settles in Seungcheol’s face. “You don’t need to, Mingyu.”

“I have to.” Mingyu turns left, faces the flickering city below and braces. “It’s directly tied to the other important thing I need to tell. The very reason for it, actually.”

Mingyu hears Seungcheol’s heartbeat picking up as the captain’s shoulders rise with tension, before he nods. “All right. I’m all ears, then.”

“A promise first.” Only when Seungcheol nods once again does Mingyu continue. “This story is not about me, so, please, let’s not make it so.”

There’s a silence that blankets the beat between Mingyu’s request and Seungcheol’s next words. Hesitation gripes the way Seungcheol presses his lips into a thin line.

“I’ll try.” Seungcheol dips his head, signalling Mingyu to continue.

And so, Mingyu tells Seungcheol of what had transpired; the letters exchanged; Wonwoo’s admittance to his lie; the graveyard and the discovery of someone far crueller than the vampire himself orchestrating this whole string of morbid scenes from a tragedy.

He left the fact that Jisoo has someone held against him. Holds the peaceful, yet perverse option of resolution from Seungcheol, for Mingyu is unsure.

The affliction on Seungcheol’s face tells Mingyu that he has things to say, but Mingyu is glad when Seungcheol chooses not to voice them.

“I’ve had a feeling—“ Seungcheol grips the balustrade, hands turning a pale contrast against the stone “—but to know it to be true fills me with both surety and dread. The king has been questioning the efforts I put into tightening the security for the banquet. I have something to base my fears on, at least.”

“Has he?”

“Says it to be a waste of resources. He doesn’t want his guests to feel discomforted by the amount of guards.”

A sinking feeling forms in Mingyu’s gut, suspicion slithering back to accompany his judgement. “Even when he knows of the lurking danger threatening his precious guests.”

Seungcheol sighs, grip going lax. “For nobles from across the land to know the king is unable to deal with this problem can be a cause for riot. His reputation is on the line.”

Mingyu wishes for Seungcheol’s assumption to be true, a far less heartless reason than the one Mingyu’s mind concluded. It couldn’t possibly be the truth, however.

He’s had an idea from the start. It rears its head when he’s Hyuk before being imprisoned, and now, as everything comes down to the banquet, the prickling sense of doubt solidifies into a much more tangible worry.

Recalling how Hyuk has been so repulsed at the idea of Mingyu meandering around Sol, Mingyu stills.

Him being thrown in a dungeon, as well as Hyuk’s urgent agreement to Minghao taking him away, must’ve been the king’s desperate attempt to get rid of Mingyu.

“Listen, Seungcheol,” Mingyu starts, “I know this must sound insane.” Catching the captain’s gaze, Mingyu doesn’t let his words waver. “Whoever is threatening Jisoo has power, has enough of it to make Jisoo do their bidding.”

The gear whirrs inside of Seungcheol’s mind, lips pursed in thought before the realisation hits him. His eyebrows disappear above his hairline. “You’re implying…”

“I can only think of a few people who could have that great of a hold on a vampire. Only one with enough defences surrounding him that killing him simply isn’t an option for Jisoo.”

There’s a gust of wind, and Seungcheol shivers. His eyes display unsureness. “But if so, why would he summon you to address this problem in the first place?”

“A cover, an early measure to thwart any suspicions from himself.”

“That makes perfect sense.” Seungcheol visibly swallows. “There’s been growing unrest in recent months as he sits at his throne. And from the ones we’ve lost, it seems as though he’s eliminating all his competition.”

“And the banquet is the perfect ground to do so, with almost all of the nobles gathered in one place.”

At a loss for words, Seungcheol retreats in on himself and turns to the city below. He takes his time absorbing it before a breath escapes his lips.

“I know I should say that this is incredulous, but Mingyu, I can’t find anything to deny of this. Don’t have time to doubt it too, for now.”

“You seem to have a lot of trust to give.”

“Perhaps I do.” A small smile plays on Seungcheol’s lips, despite the situation. “But I can say with confidence that it’s not misplaced. As I’ve said to you before, I side with the people, with the greater good, and I need you.”

Mingyu thinks it’s due the entangled mess of a state he was in before coming up here, but the warmth spreading brings a wedge up his chest.

It snuffed out as fast as it came to be, though.

“We can confirm this in time—have him testify in front of everyone if it’s true—but the banquet is still our most pressing matter,” Seungcheol says as his arms come to settle tightly across his chest.

“I’ll stand guard,” Mingyu vows, “and do anything my power to stop him.”

“And I will be right there with you. We’ll prepare for the worst and will be ready to do whatever must be done.”

Of course, it’s what Mingyu has thought of as well. An end to all the misery Jisoo has caused, and of any future ones.

And he’s back to the torn shell of a person he was walking around in.

Mingyu despises how facile it was for him to return under this weakness, for Wonwoo’s desire to have a hold over him. He cares too deeply to ignore it.

The glimmer of hope and desperation expands, and Mingyu doesn’t want to discover what awaits him if he lets it remain caged. If he will implode from the heaviness shackling his chest. Selfishness tastes bitter on his tongue.

It’s without his intention that a tremble clings his next request. “Seungcheol, I have something to ask of you.”

Mingyu reaches for the near crumpled parchment he’s taken in his pocket, hands it to Seungcheol and steps away, a preemptive measure.

“What’s this?” Seungcheol unfolds the paper and reads.

“The crutch. Someone is being held against Jisoo, and this ‘him’ is the key to all of this.”

“And what exactly are you asking for, Mingyu?”

Swallowing the lodge in his throat, Mingyu feels as though he’s betraying even himself. “This Jisoo, I’m still unable to make a sound judgement of it as well, but …he’s very dear to Wonwoo.”

Ever the quick thinker he is, Seungcheol makes a swift turn to Mingyu. “You’re asking to spare his life?”

“I know—” A humourless laugh tumbles down his lips. “—I know it’s a foolish request, a selfish one and nothing more. I tried to disregard it Seungcheol, I did. But tell me, why does it feel like I’m breaking apart when I do so?”

Without his knowledge, a tear rolls down the plane of his face, before another one follows. He brings a hand to his mouth, an attempt to reign what little control he has left.

“Mingyu…”

Stripped of his own defences, Mingyu hasn’t the strength to protect himself from the prying eyes of the world. Although Seungcheol is the sole witness, he feels so, so raw—a husk of himself before everything his father had thought him of.

There’s no sense of upkeep left in him. It’s worn down, and Seungcheol happens to be the one to see Mingyu’s failing.

He shuts his eye, head drooping in defeat. Flashes of Seungcheol’s disappointment paints the darkness, the vivid look of disgust he throws at Mingyu forming without welcome.

As Mingyu is about to take back his words, tell Seungcheol to dismiss what he said as a piece of his manic frustration, he’s pulled forward.

Seungcheol says nothing as he keeps a firm grip around Mingyu’s shoulders. His leather dressings grate against Mingyu’s exposed skin, but Mingyu isn’t bothered, relishing in the warmth of Seungcheol’s sincerity.

It’s not the same as Wonwoo’s, and Mingyu doesn’t return it. But he does, with an unfamiliar willingness, lets himself grow loose.

“You’re in pain.” Seungcheol’s voice is almost missable, but his cadence is firm.

Mingyu ponders over his words, “Isn’t it what I deserve for even thinking of what I want in this situation?”

Seungcheol shakes his head, hair tickling Mingyu’s cheek. “No, it’s something human, Mingyu. To want the best for those we love, I can’t blame you for that.”

Mingyu doesn’t bother correcting Seungcheol, merely silent as he dives in Seungcheol’s reassurance.

“It’s a ridiculous request, I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, detaching himself from Seungcheol first, heart warped as he attempts to welcome acceptance.

The few minutes Mingyu spent in harrowing muteness, blurring out the edges of Seungcheol in front of him as he placates his mind, were all it took for the captain to resolute something.

“It isn’t.”

Mingyu breaks his own reverie, a sudden lightness causing his chest to undulate in a dizzying manner. He’s gone through too many emotions these past few hours. Not used to it in the slightest, Mingyu finds himself afraid.

“It isn’t ridiculous,” Seungcheol says once again, “and I can’t stand seeing you like this. Bless my weak heart, but I’m not fond of pain, nor am I of violence.”

“You shouldn’t jest about this.” Mingyu can’t quite figure out how he should take Seungcheol’s words, if he was keen on aiding Mingyu.

“I’m not. We’ll find a way to resolve this, without any bloodshed if possible. But you know we can’t just let the vampire go, Mingyu, not with what he’s done.”

“I know.” Mingyu nods solemnly, having simmered down.

Seungcheol places a hand under his chin, quiet as he glances at the sky beside them, thinking. Mingyu’s left to watch, only finding worry at the forefront of his mind. Will this even work out?

“I’ll trust my gut and believe what you concluded; that Hyuk is the one behind this.” There’s no honorific in the way Seungcheol addresses Hyuk. “Then he’s also the one holding him hostage.”

Mingyu dips his head, urging Seungcheol to continue as he himself is at a loss for what to say.

“At the very least, this gives us a more concise idea of the possible places he’s been hidden. Not anywhere beyond Sol, I’m sure, not if he wants to keep a close eye. I can form an immediate group to search come morning.”

His mouth gapes without meaning to, an amalgamation of disbelief and desire. “You will…do that?”

“Our time is short. It isn’t impossible, but I want you to know that the chance for this to succeed is tenuous, Mingyu.”

Mingyu hasn’t kneeled for anyone before, but he’s tempted to, delirious in his hopes of salvaging what he has with Wonwoo. “That’s more than enough. I owe you my life, and I mean it.”

Time is short, as Seungcheol said, and Mingyu knows a miracle wouldn’t occur for him and mend his heart, or let him forgive. But he clings to the hope Seungcheol gave him, seeing visions of him and Wonwoo in time.

Now, though, Mingyu lets his heart sear with every thought of Wonwoo. For even with his anguish at Wonwoo’s actions, Mingyu couldn’t stop him from manifesting in his mind with every action he takes, painfully aware of how Wonwoo has deceived him, yet Mingyu seeks for him, anyway.

Mingyu welcomes the unpleasant conflict again. Acknowledges it wouldn’t resolve itself until this twisted play of fate is over.

“Oh Mingyu, I thought I asked you to recover. Perhaps it was a mistake of mine, I’m sorry.” Seungcheol’s countenance is downturned, regret splaying.

The apology takes Mingyu aback, mind reeling as to why Seungcheol would say as such. “You did nothing. It’s my fault, if anything, I allowed for this to happen.”

“It’s hard to discern what path our hearts would take. At times all we can do is put trust to those who hold it, and we don’t know what they’re capable of doing to us. Something painful, perhaps, one enough to have us spiralling down a ravine of doubt and anguish.”

Mingyu remains mute, listens as Seungcheol speaks as though he was reminiscing something that happened to himself, rather than Mingyu. The sardonic smile he has on is unfeigned.

“They could part from us, and leave nothing but hatred in us, and yet at the same time the affection still lingers, even after years.”

“I don’t hate him,” Mingyu says, and it’s the truth.

A glance towards Mingyu, Seungcheol rises his eyebrow in mild surprise. “You have a good heart. It’s not bad for me to want to land a hit on Wonwoo for you, is it?”

Mingyu feels small laughter bubbling up from the void in his chest but keeps it from voicing itself. “Please, that’s the last thing I want to happen. And I haven’t forgiven him, anyway.”

“When that time comes, then. When all of this is over.”

Seungcheol moves back to the position Mingyu found him when he first arrived, body hunched over, hands supporting him on the balustrade as he stares out of the tower. After a few seconds of consideration, Mingyu joins him.

“When all of this is over,” Mingyu repeats.

A part of the weight that muddled his heart has been alleviated due to Seungcheol, and he’s grateful for the sliver of peace. He needs to deal with the remaining pain himself, though.

It will be a long journey, handling both the banquet and his inner turmoil, and so, when Seungcheol offers him rest, he accepts.

The sun peeks over the horizon, splaying the sky with its earliest lights as both of them moved away from the balustrade.

“Wait, Mingyu,” Seungcheol calls, and Mingyu turns back. “I have something of yours.”

As dawn bathes Seungcheol with warmth from behind, the captain fishes something out from the satchel tied to his belt and holds it in his palm.

His father’s dagger, having lost its gleam with specks of dirt and dust dappling its silver.

Mingyu stares but doesn’t recognise it, doesn’t find a part of him that longs for the olden days where he held on it for dear life. It has been a helping companion throughout the years, but Mingyu’s changed.

He isn’t back to where he started, no, Mingyu is ahead, has moved past the dwellings of everything in between his father and Wonwoo.

The persistent pain on his chest is a testament to that. Mingyu’s accepted his past without him noticing, accepted who he is, back when Wonwoo convinces him to do so. And now he has the future to look forward to, no matter how he fears for it.

It’s a reminder of his past, but Mingyu doesn’t need it anymore, for the memory will remain with him even without the dagger.

“Keep it.”

☽

One thought flutters by as Mingyu stands in front of the familiar door. The magic feels electrifying, almost suffocating instead of the welcome it has always been.

It only took a day for it to recognise him as a stranger, but Mingyu tries to ignore the disappointment, douse it with the fright in his mind instead.

He still wants this place to be a home.

And he isn’t sure he’s ready to face Wonwoo, that he’s prepared to endure another slew of pain as he’s reminded of what Wonwoo’s done. He tries to forgive, but hasn’t reached his destination yet.

Despite his unwillingness, time has no concern in defying itself for Mingyu, and tomorrow is the final day before the banquet. Mingyu needs to deliver what he’s planned with Seungcheol and he needs Wonwoo; wishes Wonwoo has come to a decision. 

Feigning an indifferent disposition and bottling up all his emotions down, Mingyu enters the house. Without the need of hearing nor searching, his legs carry him to the study, where Wonwoo is sitting.

There are no lit candles, the room silent as Wonwoo sits behind his desk, eyes closed and unmoving.

As Mingyu steps in, Wonwoo’s eyes fluttered open and Mingyu stops.

All the feeble walls Mingyu constructed crumbles the instant he spots those dull reds. Usual compassion and sereneness absent as Wonwoo looks at him in muted interested, as if Mingyu is a mere illusion.

Mingyu keeps a distance between them, perhaps more for himself than Wonwoo.

“I’m here with some news.”

Wonwoo stays quiet. Then, as some clarity returns to his eyes, he sits straighter to appraise Mingyu.

Ignoring both the pained and hopeful look in Wonwoo’s eyes, Mingyu continued. “It’s Hyuk. Both Seungcheol and I have found evidence that point to him and no one else.”

“The king?” Wonwoo’s voice is thin, as though he hasn’t used it in days.

Mingyu nods, finding the floor better to look at. “We’ve found his letters, though some destroyed beyond recovering, containing his desire to rid Sol of its powerhouses. And considering everything else, we can’t find anyone else who would do this.”

Wonwoo remains seated, what was once anticipation for good bearings now replaced with dismay. Going against a king isn’t a feat one would try if they’re aiming to succeed.

“We’ve formed multiple search parties yesterday. But chances look bleak, we don’t know where Hyuk is keeping this prisoner yet, and we’re running out of time.”

“I see.” There’s defeat lacing Wonwoo’s words, eyes losing their shine again.

Mingyu’s heart lurches in his chest, wanting nothing more than to assure Wonwoo that someway, somehow, everything will fall into place. But he hasn’t the power to tell Wonwoo lies, for it is more harmful than what they have.

And since Mingyu, however much effort he has done in an attempt to let Jisoo go, is still willing to do what must be done, he’s the last person able to say those words to Wonwoo. He’d be nothing short of a monster.

“Will you help me, then?” Mingyu asks instead; the reason he’s facing Wonwoo again.

It’s nothing short of both sorrow and confusion he feels as those words left his mouth. Wonwoo has said he needed time and it’s what Mingyu gave him, but Mingyu is aware of how arduous this is for Wonwoo, visible in the lack of life he displays.

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo says, averting his eyes from Mingyu as he bites his lips.

Exasperation claws in Mingyu, despite his wish. If things would cease to be for the two of them after this, then Mingyu wants Wonwoo by his side for the last of it.

“Was the time I gave you not enough?”

One weighted shiver travels down Mingyu’s spine, and he finds it to be regret gnarling at his shoulders. Those words coming out involuntarily without Mingyu putting thought behind his emotions. He shouldn’t have said it.

It’s the first expression Wonwoo makes other than his forlorn look, and it’s one of hurt.

A horrible singe of guilt blooms in Mingyu, it settles snug next to the disappointment he has for Wonwoo. Mingyu hasn’t the slightest idea how to feel.

“It’s not something I could decide in a day, Mingyu, I’m sorry.” Wonwoo still isn’t looking at Mingyu, hiding behind shadows cast by his curtains.

From knowing that he himself is one of the reason Wonwoo seems so ghoulish—as though a ghost of a man that has lost his meaning—to knowing that Wonwoo has chosen to rescind their promise and didn’t choose to stand by Mingyu for what is probably going to be the harshest night of his life; it’s all too much.

Mingyu grits his teeth, turns around with reluctance and keeps eyes closed to keep the heat behind his eyelids at bay. After a shaky breath, Mingyu says, “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

His steps slow, Mingyu finds himself prolonging his departure, perhaps in hopes of Wonwoo stopping him.

The speed of with which Wonwoo fulfils Mingyu’s wish is unprecedented. Mingyu didn’t see, merely feels the coldness encroaching his palm, and his first instinct was to entangle their fingers together. But he doesn’t.

“No, please don’t go.”

There’s a weight on the middle of Mingyu’s back.

Mingyu glances over his shoulder to find Wonwoo resting his forehead against his back, face hidden. “What do you want from me, Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo’s answer comes in a small, frightful tone, another plea escaping his lips. “For you to value your life.”

A pang surmounts all the convoluted mess that is Mingyu’s emotion. Feeling lost, Mingyu returns his gaze forward and endures it.

He finds his resolve does not align with Wonwoo’s words, however. He couldn’t leave things to be as it is.

“And why would I do that?” Mingyu asks, keeping his voice as quiet as the air around them. “I have these innocent people’s lives to value. _And yours_. What is mine compared to them?”

Mingyu’s ears must be deceiving him, as something not quite of a whimper ghosts over his back, a hitch in Wonwoo’s breathing. Now erratic and ladened with panic.

“I don’t want you to throw away yours just like this. Because yours is more important to me than all of those, Mingyu,” says Wonwoo, firmer this time. “It’ll be a massacre and I fear the worst.”

Mingyu turns to face Wonwoo, seeing the gloss over Wonwoo’s once dull eyes. “For whom? Me, or Jisoo?”

In the brief moment before Wonwoo answered his question, Mingyu sees his life span before him, and he needs to hear this from Wonwoo, his last trace of wistfulness. At the very least, Mingyu needs to know his own worth before he leaves.

“I…”

Wonwoo doesn’t continue.

A bitter smile forms itself, playing along with the tear and the wrench of his heart that follows. He's somehow known what Wonwoo would say, or rather not say, yet it hurts him, anyway. “You don’t have to answer, keep it.”

“Please, Mingyu.”

“I’m sorry.” Mingyu turns, parts their hands and ventures out to the cold, merciless night.

The sounds of the world falls deaf to Mingyu, his ears ringing with intensity. It’s as though a part of him had shrivelled and passed, a part he didn’t know holds so much of himself before this.

A cold wind howls at his back, and Mingyu keeps his eyes upwards, an attempt to not look back. He hasn’t the strength to, and he’d lose his dwindling resolve if he does.

Mingyu lets his emotions bleed out into the night, the moon burning in his vision as he walks to the now hazy world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of an earlier update, though i'm not super proud of this one as it is more of a setup, here it is! and we're left with the end of it all.
> 
> i've actually had the last conversation planned since february, can't believe i have reached this point. so, thank you for staying with me!


	8. in fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _at the end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> descriptions of blood and injury ahead.

A series of knocks reverberates on the door behind him, pulling Mingyu out of his meditation.

Slow, almost refusing to with darkness dancing and lulling at the edges of his vision, Mingyu forces the world to come back into view. It takes the last vestiges of Mingyu’s will to do so, but he has to, he _must_.

The sight of a darkened room greets him. He hasn’t realised how much time has escaped his clutches as he traversed his muddled mind, but the sky has lost its sun, the moon refusing to peek above the brewing clouds and bathe the night with its light.

Time has twisted and morphed into a confusing concept to Mingyu; he wants it to move faster, but he also longs to grasp the minutes, to let them stay with him as long as they could.

Mingyu feels as though he’s lost years trying to sort his thoughts, to prepare himself for tomorrow, and yet time has also passed without his knowledge, leaving him with little room to face what’s to come.

It doesn’t reach anywhere near to what Mingyu needs. For however the hands of fate would play tomorrow out, Mingyu knows an inevitable change is going to happen.

And it’s up to him to decide: to part with a piece of him that’s grown into a home, or let red paint the night sky of Sol, forgoing his humanity for a wish he couldn’t even envision working out in his head.

Wonwoo has been quiet. No wisps of communication, no letters, no crows.

As a cold, long breath leaves his lips, the door opens, and in walks Seungcheol with nothing but refusal to meet Mingyu’s eyes.

The captain closes the door behind him. His gait tells of no joyous news, no signs of the universe deciding to spare Mingyu’s sanity and bless them with a resolution without any lost lives for them to bear.

Mingyu stands from the edge of the untouched bed—Seungcheol’s bed—and faces Seungcheol fully.

He can’t help the urgency in his voice when Seungcheol remains quiet. “Well?”

Seungcheol moves to light the candles and doesn’t answer. Taking his time to take his gloves off, his back turned to Mingyu, Seungcheol leaves Mingyu to his own conclusions.

It isn’t a difficult one to figure out. A part of him knows what to expect, and this is a mere confirmation of his worst fears.

“We’ve…found nothing yet.” Something akin to fear of disappointment carries those words.

Mingyu doesn’t see the need for the captain to feel as such; It isn’t Seungcheol’s fault, and him accepting Mingyu’s request for a goose chase is more than Mingyu could ask for.

“It isn’t your fault. I’ve told you it was ridiculous of me to ask, anyway,” Mingyu says, defeat lacing his cadence. “There’s no way for us to do this. We don’t even know what or who we’re searching for.”

Perhaps his judgement was clouded when he asked, clinging desperately to a hope that struggles to glimmer in the bleakness of reality. In spite of everything, Mingyu wants, and it spurs him to believe.

He still does, but he almost has nothing left to afford deluding himself to a fallacy.

Mingyu moves to the window and looks out to the sky. He takes a deep breath, and almost misses Seungcheol approaching him again.

“You’re right, we don’t,” Seungcheol agrees, looking down in thought as he leans against the wall besides the window. “But I won’t let all our effort go to waste.”

“Isn’t it already a waste?”

“Mingyu, stop this. I know it looks near hopeless, and I admit it does.” Seungcheol crosses his arms. “You were the one who believed in this idea, and I trust you. I trust in the future you and I are trying to forge. You can’t be giving up now.”

Hands tightening on the stone windowsill, Mingyu bites down the despair that has been flourishing inside of him.

“Prepare for the worst, but don’t lose hope.”

“Right.” Mingyu swallows and turns to the night once more. There’s truth in what Seungcheol said, it would be foolish of him to surrender what he has been fighting for, has shed tears and heart for, to fate.

Not as long as he has blood running in his veins and breath in his lungs. Not as long as he has the drive to try and bend it.

Mingyu’s prepared, has buried the burning beneath his eyes and the cavity in his chest under guises of his purpose.

“There are a few places left for us to search. Sol is big, sometimes it takes perseverance to reach such a goal.”

If Mingyu was to let himself take on another chance, it only feels right for it to come from Seungcheol. His confidant through all the convoluted suffering this city has brought to him.

But then there’s a matter of uncertainty swirling overhead. They have a daunting puzzle to solve, but only has so much pieces to barely push forth with their pursuit.

“We still have no clue as to who we’re going to find.”

“Again, we don’t know who we’re searching for, yes, but I’ve served Hyuk for years, and it’s befitting of him to keep this person alone. Secluded. Deprived of anything he’s ever known. He shouldn’t be impossible to find.”

Doubt and hope blends and settles in Mingyu, another indecision he has to face. “We don’t have much time.”

“True.” Seungcheol nods. “But we still have all the hours before the banquet tomorrow. Have faith.”

“Then let me help. I can move faster, cover more ground— “

“No.”

Mingyu detaches himself from the window and turns to Seungcheol in a speed that has his neck almost protesting. “Why? I would do anything for this to work. Please.”

“As I’m willing to do as well.” Seungcheol stands straighter, shoulders taut with authority. He poses an astute intimidation to anyone else, but not to Mingyu, as Mingyu knows Seungcheol means no harm. “I know this is important for you. More than your own safety, perhaps, but I need you here.”

“I am of no use here, hiding away like a phantom in your quarters.”

What he was able to, or rather, not able to do these past few days has Mingyu on the verge of losing his nerves. His meditations are helping him piece himself back together, but Mingyu despises this sense of uselessness.

He should have been able to do more than rehash his feelings in a room, than move in the shadows and staying complacent. Especially in a matter that was caused by his own mistake.

“Not yet,” Seungcheol grits. “You’re our best chance at preventing the fall of this kingdom, Mingyu. I can’t have you wasting yourself meandering around in this search before tomorrow.”

“I know. But this all could stop before it happens with my help. Please, let me do this for my own sake.”

Mingyu pictures a day of peace gracing the lands of Sol, of the people running about without the horrors of a massacre latching on their backs, of a rightful king ruling out of kindness and dedication, instead of greed.

A vivid ghost of Wonwoo smiling as he snakes his arms around Mingyu comes as an aggressive after-thought. An idyllic image of reconciliation, a selfish imagery that lies beneath Mingyu’s volition.

Even if Wonwoo might have chosen Jisoo over him, even if Mingyu knows this still stands true, he welcomes the image. For Mingyu is a fool—painfully human in how he longs for what he has with Wonwoo.

“It could. But a lot of people are celebrating, and you’d risk yourself being out in the open. Not all my guards are aware of what’s going on.” Seungcheol struts to the door, as though his words are final.

Mingyu keeps his lips pressed, watches as Seungcheol prepares to leave him for the night.

“It's all chance as you said, Mingyu. Although I know—I’m _sure_ —we’ll find him, there’s a chance Jisoo would arrive here before we do.” Seungcheol says right before the door. His gaze leaves no room for doubt as he turns one last time. “I ask you to trust me as I trust you.”

Mingyu feels as though Seungcheol deliberately left it unsaid. Of how there is a chance that this would inevitably turn into a fool’s errand. Of how he also knows, no matter how hard they cling to hope, that Mingyu would have to ensure tomorrow night is resolved with his own hands.

As things stand, Mingyu has lives to protect, and it’s more than enough for him to continue forward. His heart comes second.

Mingyu’s gaining nothing from questioning Seungcheol in his abilities. He isn’t alone in this, he reminds himself. Trust has always been something they’ve shared, and Mingyu knows having qualms about it is the last thing he needs in this moment.

And so, Mingyu leaves Seungcheol with a delicate part of him. A part that hopes. A part that wishes. A part that wants.

Ignoring the knowledge of how it will crumble first before any other part of himself else is easy.

“I will tell the guards I trust to wear something distinctive so you could recognise them, should the need of their aid arise.”

“Thank you.” Mingyu dips his head, emotions simmering down.

“Good night, Mingyu. Get some rest.”

Seungcheol looks nothing close to rested himself, but he returns back to the night.

After another disruptive static in his stream of thoughts, Mingyu jerks awake from his unneeded rest. Slivers of moonlight reflect on the stone tiles in front of him, but not nearly enough to illuminate the room in full, as Mingyu is enshrouded in shadows.

It must’ve been past midnight. A gust of wind sends a chill down his spine, and Mingyu smells the movements under the blanketed sky.

Rustles and bustles reach his ears, despite the hour, the inhabitants of the castle busying themselves to prepare for the imminent celebration. Pity finds itself in Mingyu as he listens.

If only they knew all their labour would end in vain, no matter how their woes would present a facade of luxury for Hyuk, it would all serve as nothing more than a pretence for his sinister intentions.

Mingyu shakes away the lingering doubt.

Finding himself restless, nerves fraying to an extent where he is compelled to do something, Mingyu rises. The commotion would make for a great distraction for him to be discreet. If he isn’t able to aid Seungcheol’s search in person, then he could always look for more traces of Hyuk’s plans.

Mingyu makes sure nothing out of his appearance would make him distinguishable, only adorning his tunic and trousers as he ventures out.

Empty are the hallways in front of Seungcheol’s quarters, the guards stationed in various outposts and worked to their bones until the end of these festivities makes the emptiness that greets Mingyu. It allows for him to move forth without any hassle.

Mingyu makes his way out of the wing of the palace which hosts the guard’s quarters in no time, finding himself near the service area, his breathing calm as signs of the ongoing preparations start to reach his senses again.

He remains indifferent as he passes two maids carrying sheets of golden silk, meant to be put up as decoration for the banquet, and both of them don’t bat an eye at Mingyu, far too engrossed in keeping the fabric unsullied.

After he’s alone again, Mingyu feels the vastness of the palace bearing down on his shoulders. His footsteps don’t echo, the path in front of him endless, but the night is short, and Mingyu almost falters as he spots the position of the moon through a small window.

The complete layout of the palace isn’t something Mingyu knows, and he’s aware of how facile it is to get lost in this barely illuminated, winding hallways.

Nothing out of these stone walls feel familiar to Mingyu. He’s been here, stayed here, but it would never be the peaceful warmth that Wonwoo’s home is.

But he isn’t deterred. Falling back unto something he’s known since the very first night he ran through the forest, attempting to escape his father, is effortless.

His instincts and senses. The part of him that comes with a price, one he isn’t sure is worth his thoughts anymore. He’s found a place, and he’s fighting for it.

Hyuk’s chambers lie beyond the great hall, in the far back of the palace, this Mingyu knows, and so he navigates his way across. Mingyu emerges from the service wing of the palace without much issue.

The inner courtyard, which connects the servant chambers with every other part of the palace, is gilded with banners and fabrics of gold, fluttering in the wind to tell of Sol’s great riches. A few tables are scattered across the stone-tiled space, set to host the various meals for the banquet. Several servants are loitering around, occupied by the work laid out in front of them.

In the west, across the courtyard and directly in front of where Mingyu emerged, lies the royal gardens. Lanterns were lit up to elicit a mesmerising glow from the shrubs, white stone pillars decorate the open field. It’s vast, beautiful, but Mingyu notes of the possible hidden nooks between the greens. Mingyu hasn’t seen it in full before, and even now he has to settle admiring it from meters away, and regards it as grounds for a massacre.

It’s the sight of the banquet coming to be that sets dread back in his heart, fuelling his feet to move.

Shadows from the columns surrounding the large courtyard provides Mingyu cover as he heads north, eyes zeroing on the heavy double doors. The same doors he opened before being met with the coldness of the dungeons for days.

He doesn’t shun it, though, for it made him realise something dear, someone he longs for.

Mingyu sees the glow beyond the entrance of the great hall. Faint sounds of armours clinking, and a couple of quickened breaths reaches Mingyu. The hall isn’t left unguarded, and Mingyu stops, mind whirring as he thinks of a solution.

Chatter from the courtyard garners his attention, and Mingyu watches as the servants finish putting the last of the table. He waits as they return inside the palace and disappear through the door Mingyu appeared from.

Mindful of his surroundings, Mingyu ventures to the open courtyard, not veering too far from the shadowed cloister. He looks up and an idea of a plan forms in his mind.

There are ledges above the arch between the columns, a straight line of rocks jutting out the wall. It’s enough leverage for him to land on the roof, allowing him to sweep above the great hall if he could succeed.

Mingyu looks behind him, affirms that no one is watching, and crouches. He has to do this in one movement, lest the force of his jump wouldn’t suffice.

The sound of footsteps echoes behind him, far enough that Mingyu is sure he’s still unseen, but they were fast approaching. He has to move.

Mingyu releases a breath. Feels his heart slowing while keeping track of the footsteps. He allows himself a moment to gather his strength.

With one swift motion, Mingyu leaps. His hands catch the ledge but doesn’t linger there. Not wasting any second of his momentum, Mingyu pushes from the ledge and propels himself upwards, soaring for a moment before landing soundlessly on the roof.

As the footsteps round the corner from one of the hallways, Mingyu moves to towards the great hall, hiding himself from view.

Scaling the difference of height of the cloister’s and the great hall’s roof isn’t as difficult. The various inclines and ridges of the structure making for an easier ascend. He crosses the wider roof, a straight line towards the back side of the building.

Now at the edge, Mingyu’s able to see the interconnecting pathways, almost winding as he sees it lead to a bigger building a little ways north.

Mingyu jumps down from atop the great hall, breaking his fall as such so no noise were made, rolling along the plane with ease. The night air bites at him as he follows along the spine of the roof, balancing his silence steps, the wind whistling past him.

Only stopping after he’s reached the end, Mingyu scans the visibly more ornate building ahead for any entrances. Perhaps by sheer luck, several windows are left open.

It takes one precise jump for Mingyu to reach the window from the roof. His feet dangle precariously above the garden below. Mingyu pushes the glass away, grimacing as it creeks with the movement. It prompts him to wait, vigilant as Mingyu listens for any indication he’s been heard—but nothing comes.

A gust of wind rises as Mingyu hoists himself up and slips into the room.

The king’s antechamber is spacious; intricate patterns are carved onto the stone beams supporting the building; great paintings of old hanged in every corner; an imposing desk sits in the centre of the room. It looks unused.

At the far end of the room stands another double door, its golden handle gleam even in the night. It’s slightly ajar, the glow of a lantern seeping out of the opening and Mingyu hears whispers permeating between the walls.

He inches closer, ears picked to try and catch the harsh whispers beyond. As Mingyu stands before the door, it opens.

Mingyu’s thankful for his reflexes, for if he didn’t swerve behind immediately, he would’ve been smacked in the face. Imagining the weight of the door slamming into him isn’t pleasant. Nor is the idea of him being seen.

Hurried steps scurry from the king's room. Mingyu spots a person moving out of the antechamber from his position behind the door. It’s Chan—Mingyu recalls the younger boy from that night.

His dishevelled appearance sets something stirring in Mingyu, his breaths coming in short, almost frantic intervals as he clutches a stack of parchment in his grip.

Chan must’ve been distracted enough to crash into the corner of the desk, falling down with the papers scattering about. A groan slips out of his lips, pained, his side hidden by an ivory grip from his knuckles.

The prolonged moment of Chan writhing on the ground has Mingyu moving before he could think. He wants to help, has already stepped forward, but retreats back into the shadows. Another pair of footsteps dance in the edge of his hearing.

“What’s that?”

It’s Hyuk, voice laced with annoyance. He emerges not long after the inquiry, posture slouched and miserable, eyes that of a madman. Mingyu could only see a glimpse of him, but the searing heat in his chest is unmistakable.

Tantalising, sending a hindering of sense hatred down the plane of his back. Mingyu tastes blood in his mouth as he watches.

“You fool,” Hyuk hisses, not offering help to the scrambling Chan. “Hurry and deliver those letters. Don’t make me throw you in the slums again.”

After one last grovelling stare, Hyuk turns, chin held high as he slams the door close behind him.

Mingyu hears Chan gulp and sees the forming tears at the very corner of the younger’s eyes, lips bitten to keep it from quivering as he gets back on his feet. With trembling hands, he gathers the parchment, head hung low.

The anger now replaced with something far milder, Mingyu considers revealing himself to help Chan, but he doesn’t. He can’t afford any chances that could signify his presence. Not even in a matter concerning Chan, who he knows wouldn’t attempt anything.

With a tighter hold, Chan carries the paper out of the antechamber to the hallways beyond. Mingyu sees stationed guards in the second the door remained open. Trailing after the younger boy isn’t a choice he can make.

Mingyu’s left with no option but to sift through the room, looking for something— _anything_. A feeling in his chest with a disposition akin to that of desperation has him here.

The letters they found before was all Seungcheol, and Mingyu hasn’t an idea of what he’s searching for. Another letter, perhaps, a plan of action, anything that would have Mingyu geared for tomorrow.

And thus, he searches, through the cabinets and drawers, covering the room corner to corner. He’s on the verge of retreating to Seungcheol’s quarters when he finds nothing.

Then he sees it. Slipped under the corner of the desk; an envelope.

It must’ve been part of what Chan was carrying, missed and forgotten in the blur of his tears.

Mingyu’s eyebrow creases, a frown forming when he picks it up and opens it. 

Although new, the parchment not yellowed with age, it’s familiar. Same paper, same writing, same scent—same intent. It’s the same with the very first letters they found in the mausoleum.

What awaits him is a final piece to the puzzle they’ve been ruminating over. Words that would help them solve this without bloodshed.

It has a name.

Perhaps it was intended to be the last letter—a last warning before the night—and Hyuk needs to make himself clear for the finale.

The message has a name and Mingyu keeps himself from gasping.

An onslaught of thoughts fills his head, overbearing in their frantic battle to make themselves known; Hope. Fear. Anticipation. Desperation. They all grip Mingyu in place, frozen in an attempt to reign his own mind.

It’s a sound of an object falling behind him that forces Mingyu to move. He’s out of the room and on the roof without any stifles.

Oh, how he wishes he had one of Wonwoo’s crow in this moment.

He needs to find Seungcheol.

_To the venerable and highly skilled, vampire, fiend, Jisoo,_

_The night is nigh, mere hours to the end of our_ fair _contract._

_Your greatest feat, perhaps, and my most astounding achievement as King._

_I am sure it’s in your utmost interest to not fail meeting our agreement._

_Jeonghan wouldn’t be fond of starvation._ _Nor several stakes through his limbs, I reckon._

_If you fail, he shan’t see the beauty of sunlight nor the_ _gleaming reflection of moonlight on the rivers for eternity._

_I am a man of my words._

☽

Mingyu is unable to erase Seungcheol’s countenance when he delivered the letter. Nothing short of fright dawned on the captain’s face, as though an unseen tragedy played out before his eyes, Mingyu oblivious to it all.

Although the captain left with another reassurance of him sorting things out, a flicker of determination burning in the way his jaw clenches, fists an unwavering grip on the parchment, it isn’t hard for the familiar omen of death to slither in Mingyu’s stomach.

It holds him like a vice, hindering him from buttoning his doublet properly.

Seungcheol presents his emotions without barring anything, truthful in his stance and words. Coming to terms with how Seungcheol operates with conviction is simple. Yet seeing the bewilderment on Seungcheol’s face has Mingyu worrying.

Something is being kept from him as Seungcheol refused to indulge Mingyu. And he hasn’t seen the captain since, the wake of Seungcheol riding into the sunrise the last he’s seen of the elder.

Mingyu stays, though, keeps the seams together with the impending task at hand.

The banquet is to be tonight. Only an hour left before the sun vanishes and the festivities ensue.

A tremendous amount of effort later, Mingyu manages to finish wearing his doublet, the garment hugging his torso tightly. The material causes an unbearable urge to take it off.

It isn’t bad, by any means—it’s the most luxurious of materials available, even.

Intricate floral patterns cover the entirety of the doublet, a striking gold against the black brocade. All Mingyu feels is the softness of the fabric as he runs a hand down his chest, the satin lining inside soft against his bare skin and he shivers.

Years of carrying the burden of his work has had him in various gears; heavy drabs of leather, the cool breeze of linen, the warmth of woven wool. The combination of silk and brocade surpasses all of them in terms of comfort and worth.

But it isn’t for Mingyu. It’s as tough surrounding yourself with luxuries that weren’t meant for you. Adorning a skin that’s far too gaudy, hiding the terrible lie beneath.

Mingyu rolls his shoulders backwards, stretches both his hands upwards, testing how much he can move in the doublet. He doesn’t find a hindrance in moving, but it’s not nearly enough room.

The setting sun beyond the window paints a bleak picture, and Mingyu’s convinced he would have red seeping through the skin of his hands tonight. What would the extraordinary silk be worth, if stained by a sin done in the name of others?

Not much, Mingyu guesses, not when he is to be the one who does it.

Mingyu moves to the basin of water near the door, avoiding the mirror above it. The water is cold, it ripples as Mingyu scoops it to splash his face, bringing him a much-needed alertness.

Along with it comes a near paralysing realisation. Mingyu tries to fight it, breath ghosting over the water when an involuntary shake rakes him. His hands find the edges of the basin stand, sharp edges digging into his palm as he centres himself.

He shakes his head, bites his lips and looks up. 

It isn’t him that stares back.

A breath puffs from his lips, the unrecognisable sight in front of him causing a heat to accumulate beneath his eyes. Mingyu jams his eyes shut, willing them to go away before they could reverse all that he’s done to prepare himself.

He finds it not to be the greatest idea, for the images dance in the back of his eyelids. They envelope his vision in a dizzying manner. There’s someone moving away from Mingyu, coat billowing behind him.

Wonwoo doesn’t spare him a glance as he walks further away, stumbling every so often as though his legs are giving up on him. Further, and further, until a fog starts to form between them, Wonwoo almost lost from Mingyu’s sight.

Then, at the very edge of where Mingyu could see, Wonwoo turns. One of his hand clutches his chest, an ivory white with how tight he was gripping his dress shirt. The lace ruffles are stained red.

Mingyu’s left helpless but to watch as the red blooms, the tears gleaming as they fall and Wonwoo disappears.

When he returns to the present with a start, he steps backwards, eyes never leaving his reflection in the mirror.

He’s come to terms with losing Wonwoo after tonight. Perhaps it’s the weight of reality finally bearing down on him from how close he is to that point that caused this to bother him at this very moment.

And remembering what he’s last seen of the vampire—the despondent, almost lifeless stare—Mingyu sees a single wetness roll down his cheek.

Mingyu can’t leave Wonwoo in such a state. It’s the repercussions of their paths meeting, their fates intertwining like those told in ballads of old. Yet they couldn’t be farther from it.

They moved too fast, consuming what has bloomed between them in an alarming rate, finding comfort in a world that offers close to none. Perhaps it wasn’t for the best.

The lies Wonwoo hid behind his back is still palpable, but Mingyu couldn’t bear the thought of Wonwoo losing the spark of kindness he’s always had. Both of them aren’t without fault. Both of them aren’t without reason.

Though wrapping his head around the reason for Wonwoo’s deceit has been an arduous journey, Mingyu now has a sense of reason. The full extent of which Jisoo is consequential to Wonwoo’s life is still unbeknownst to him, the question saved for another day—if there will be another day—but Mingyu partly understands.

If Jisoo to Wonwoo is anywhere close, or even surpasses, what Minghao is to Mingyu, then he understands.

No, Mingyu hasn’t quite dealt with the consequences of Wonwoo’s refusal to be honest with him. It is to be carried out tonight. And Mingyu has the power to let himself forgive Wonwoo. He just has to do what he does best, what he’s done for years even before Wonwoo.

If Wonwoo hasn’t the will to forgive him, then at least Mingyu has forgiven Wonwoo. For despite everything, his heart is unchanging. He wants Wonwoo. Wants him to return to how he was before all of this transpired.

Or, in the very least, as it feels like an impossible feat, for Wonwoo to go on living again, and not merely existing. Any ounce of emotion is better than the heartbreak, than the vacancy in his eyes, than the void that’s creeping up on the vampire’s back. Even if it’s hatred for Mingyu.

He’s willing to bear it.

Mingyu moves away from the basin, turning back to the bed. The mask sitting above the linen covers is just as gaudy as the doublet, gold undertones splaying across the black fabric.

It weighs almost nothing on his hands, yet as Mingyu lets it settle on the bridge of his nose, it’s as though the weight has increased fourfold. Another adorned mask amongst others.

He knows he doesn’t belong in these lavish garments; they were the farthest things he could ever belong in, but without them he would be carried out at first glance. There are opportunities that come with the banquet being a masquerade, after all.

A loud blare of brass slithers in through the window, and Mingyu looks up to see the darkness starting to blend with the last lights of day. The edges of dusk swallowing what little time Mingyu has left.

With a last long, calming inhale, Mingyu moves. Barehanded and with what was despair clutching the very corners of his heart, Mingyu’s prepared.

“This is it, Mingyu.”

An exhale, and Mingyu walks out of Seungcheol’s quarters to the clash that awaits him.

☽

Mingyu finds little solace in the shadows of the cloister, boastful music invading his senses and the laughter of the nobles an accompanying percussion to the already exorbitant mix of brasses and strings.

He keeps his hands tight across his chest, a silent display of deterrence. Few has glanced his way, gazes heavy on his skin, curiosity and intrigue dancing in the tips of their giggles and not-so-innocent smiles. It crawls on his skin and has him shelved in the corner.

Great feasts were served on golden plates all across the courtyard, some were barely left, some being picked apart by the various people around it. Mingyu grimaces at the amount of wealth they display.

For what was planned to be a bloodbath, Hyuk put in an enormous amount of effort to keep grace to his name until the very last moments. It’s almost astounding how deep his selfishness runs.

Having enough of the garishness of the courtyard, Mingyu strides away into the night, heading to the less crowded garden. He keeps his ears vigilant, but it’s hard to discern any sounds of pain amidst the sounds of pleasure and glee.

Stray hands find themselves on Mingyu, travelling down in a caressing manner, touch an electric jolt on his nerves and Mingyu despises them. They weren’t the cold he is fond of. Weren’t underpinned with the love and compassion he finds home in.

Love.

Mingyu feels a bemused chuckled bubbling up his throat but holds it. It’s a twisted play of fate for him to only realise it tonight.

Paying them no mind, Mingyu keeps himself from stopping, legs carrying him even as he struggles to shove the sudden realisation.

As he’s halfway across the space, he eyes the doors of the great hall. The heavy wood is ajar to accommodate the banquet. Merely a blur, sitting behind a wide oak table, is Hyuk. Even in the far distance, Mingyu’s able to spot his lax stature, his golden robe billowing below him as he sits still. A proper image of a king watching his people flourish in joy.

Although the truth sits farthest from it, Mingyu praises Hyuk in his ability to be completely and utterly heartless.

There’s a dance going on in the great hall, and soon the eager nobles conceal Hyuk in a heap of moving bodies, and Mingyu returns to heading to the royal gardens.

The air feels less suffocating the instance his feet crunches the grass beneath him.

Mingyu finds himself an unoccupied stone pillar and leans against it, letting his shoulders loose. The premises are barely lit, relying more on moonlight and the glimmer of the stars for light rather than the torches scattered around. And though the walls of the palace are visible, it’s as though the gardens sprawls endlessly, going even beyond what was visible to the eye of a mortal.

All the chatter seems to lessen, people enjoying each other’s companies in a serene banter under the unobstructed air. Perhaps it was the wine and ale running through their systems that cause red stained lips to smile without a worry. As long as it doesn’t drip, Mingyu would stay placid.

Hours have passed and Mingyu worries as the starless sky burns on, blanketing the banquet in a stifling manner, despite it being unnoticed by everyone else.

His senses are on edge, nerves a taut bowstring poised to shoot. There are still no signs of Seungcheol, and as Mingyu watches the people laugh and stumble, another wave of dread trickles down the base of his neck.

The captain should have been back by now. No matter if he’s found Jeonghan or not. And even if he’s still in the midst of seeking Jeonghan, he must’ve realised how futile his effort would turn out.

They don’t have all the time in the world. The night is short, hours passing without giving them any ounce of sympathy.

Mingyu wishes for Seungcheol to return to the palace and in the very least, be there with him. Mingyu thinks it as inevitable—the deeds he would have to do. His hands are starting to ache, as if attuning themselves for what’s to come.

It binds him numb for a moment before acceptance settles.

He’s spotted several guards with red sashes—the tip Seungcheol gave them—around their arms, some dipping their heads to Mingyu in recognition. A good number of them lies about, but they don’t banish the void in Mingyu’s chest.

The night couldn’t be more stuffed, the music couldn’t be more exuberant, and yet there’s a constant coldness draping over him. It isn’t difficult to hear its alluring whispers. They’re convincing, almost.

Mingyu feels alone.

He sees nothing when he closes his eyes. No pictures drawn, no shadows of a friend nor foe accompanying him, the darkness a blur even in his own thoughts. It doesn’t change when he returns to the present.

And perhaps it’s due to his clouded vision, the world a hazy tinge around the edges, that his mind has a hard time comprehending what his eyes unveiled.

Mingyu sees him.

The lines of his form send a familiar warmth down his veins, causing it to run alight with a fusion of sorrow and aching. He has a chalice between his fingers, eyes hidden beneath a white mask gazing down at whatever liquid the golden cup holds, lips slightly parted and Mingyu holds a breath.

His navy jacket ends just beneath his ribs, the white lace details accentuate the broadness of his shoulders, cascading down against the velvet akin to delicate hands caressing a prized possession. Mingyu watches as Wonwoo fiddles with the high collar of his blouse, an unusual gesture of unsureness for the vampire.

Beneath the dark canvas of the sky, parts of his being dappled in dancing moonlight and a lustre that only him could have, Wonwoo looks like an apparition barely teetered to reality. Beautiful, yet fleeting. As though he isn’t real.

Mingyu’s mind wanders back to the night when he first saw Wonwoo on its own. When he saw Wonwoo bathed underneath the moonlight for the first time. Wonwoo has always lacked the menacing quality of vampires, but his strength and confidence were unquestionable, just more inconspicuous under his kind disposition.

This night, though, they were missing. He looks small. Lost. A mere backdrop to the grand extravagance of the splendour displayed in the banquet.

Without an ounce of hesitation and as if moving based on instinct and familiarity alone, Mingyu’s body gravitates towards Wonwoo. One step closer across the chasm between them, Mingyu stops.

A dull red holds him in a steely gaze as Mingyu tries to fathom what incites him to move. Both surprise and disbelief—he reckons—and a sliver of yearning at the very top of them all.

When Mingyu resumes walking, Wonwoo places the chalice on a nearby table, turns, and delves deeper into the garden. He disappears before Mingyu reaches him.

Mingyu meets Wonwoo between the trees of the small orchard attached to the garden. The vampire is leaning against a tree, face muddled as now the shadows prance around him instead of moonlight.

For all the haste he had in following Wonwoo, Mingyu’s having a hard time to form words. Tongue tied as his mind thrums and his feelings overwhelm.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Wonwoo muses, taking off his mask with careful measure.

Mingyu doesn’t do the same. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Neither did I.”

Keeping a distance between them despite wanting nothing but to be close, Mingyu is able to observe the vapid way Wonwoo is breathing as he speaks. It sends a heaviness that chains down his chest.

Even so, Mingyu forces himself to be cautious, there’s no telling what Wonwoo’s aiming for. “Then, why are you here? To stop me?”

Surprise etches the plane of Wonwoo’s face, eyebrows raising, and eyes filled with momentary emotion, before it’s gone again. Then his eyes fluttered close with a sigh.

“No. I would never hurt you, not intentionally. Not when it would tear me apart.”

Mingyu swallows, a tumultuous ringing resounding in his ears and his resolve almost crumbles. “This is no time for you to keep things, Wonwoo. I need to know whether I could trust you, or have my hands dirtied with another person’s blood.”

An unbearable coldness wraps Mingyu as those words left his lips, partly despising himself for them. It sets a deep wrenching motion in his gut, the thought of even touching Wonwoo in such a way sending disgust to the very base of his spine.

There’s no surprise from Wonwoo, however, a sad smile playing on his lips instead of the pain Mingyu expects from him. And somehow, the sight of acceptance on Wonwoo’s face hurts more than seeing hatred.

“Before that, can I tell you everything? I think it’s only fair for you to know why I’ve been such a fool; why I’ve been nothing but a liar to you.” Wonwoo stands straighter, hands cradling the mask.

“I don’t have time for tha— “

“You following me here suggests that you do,” Wonwoo says, an empty nonchalance in his lilt, “and he’s not here. Not yet, anyway.”

As if on cue, a crow caws from one of the trees above, its dark feathers blending with the night surrounding them.

Gripped with hesitation—both due to the ongoing banquet and the trepidation clinging to his skin, an unreadiness to hear what Wonwoo is about to say—Mingyu remains quiet.

The sounds of the banquet seem so distant, yet Mingyu’s mind spin in the deafening silence. He wouldn’t know how to move forward if Wonwoo is to oppose him.

Mingyu turns his back on Wonwoo to find what little reprieve available. He sees the glimmer of the jackets and dresses in the distance, intermingling with the fluttering golden fabric and light from the candles.

Nothing seems out of place as of now, and perhaps it’s this knowledge that grounds him. Other than the gaping hole that was his curiosity to know if he matters—if Wonwoo would ultimately be nothing but another person that’d fall by Mingyu’s hands.

Facing Wonwoo once again, Mingyu resolves to see through how the hands of fate will play.

A hint of gratefulness colours the small upwards pull of Wonwoo’s lips, but he dips his head before Mingyu could construe it. The story he tells starts with a deep sigh that seems to take all his will to conjure.

“Jisoo is dear to me, that much I know you have the knowledge of, but of how far he means to me is something I haven’t told you about,” Wonwoo starts, eyes not meeting Mingyu’s. “It almost feels like centuries ago that I was nothing but a drifting vagabond, cursed with this hunger for power and an eternity to fulfil that thirst.”

Mingyu can’t help but stare as Wonwoo’s already dull eyes glaze over even more, venturing beyond time and to the past.

“But fear has been my longest acquaintance, waving at the edge of my consciousness every time I even dare to think of touching another being. It tore me apart. I was weak. I was lost. And in our world, it equals to being a prey for the universe to feed on.”

“And it’s Jisoo who saved you?”

A small nod. “You could say that. Perhaps it was pity more than anything else that made him take me under his wing. He thought me how to deceive, how to reign my powers, how to survive, how to _kill._ ”

There’s bitterness in the last syllable he uttered, affliction following along on his countenance. It’s so very Wonwoo to have an aversion to violence. And yet here he was, intentions unclear, both possibilities of his presence inexplicably tied with it.

Wonwoo takes a moment to collect his breath before continuing.

“I hadn’t the heart to utilise what he taught me. Jisoo despised it nearly as much as I do, but he always did it without fail every single time we were in peril, for the both of us. It was up to a point where I didn’t know if my life was my own with everything I owe him.”

Mingyu’s heart twinges, knocking the breath out of his lungs as another wave of pain envelops his chest.

“Wonwoo…”

“And I’ve been eluding myself to think that my unwillingness to inflict pain was a form of repayment for him, when it was—it is—nothing but a deliberate, selfish decision I made for my own sake. I couldn’t do that to myself.

Jisoo saw through my facade, he was too perceptive to not to. He left me, but it doesn’t change the deeds he’d done for me. I wouldn’t be here without him. I wouldn’t be _myself_ if it wasn’t for him.”

It takes Mingyu a moment to realise the flicker of light he sees is Wonwoo’s tears catching the faint glow of moonlight. Wonwoo isn’t making a sound, silent in his anguish.

The sound of his feet stepping on some leaves is the sole thing that registers in Mingyu’s brain as he moves. He hasn’t even realised he’s approaching Wonwoo.

Wonwoo’s shoulders tense for a moment before sloping back down, as though forced to.

“I…” Mingyu breathes. “I understand why you deceived me. And I—”

“Please don’t say those words. I don’t deserve this from you, Mingyu.” Wonwoo looks up and meets Mingyu’s stare.

“Only I can decide that,” Mingyu says, truth a constant in his words. “But I still need to know what you’re here for.”

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything. He merely reaches up, hands going around Mingyu’s head to untie the mask, letting it fall to the ground. Something swirls in his eyes, something indecipherable to Mingyu.

“I’m not here to stop you.”

“Then?”

A cold hand cups Mingyu’s cheek in a soft, reluctant touch, but it stays there. “Please forgive me for being so selfish. You said you couldn’t hate me, and yet I know I’d loathe you if you kill Jisoo.”

Mingyu holds Wonwoo’s wrist, cautious, and he’s reminded once more of their first night.

“But I wouldn’t let that happen,” Wonwoo continues, smiling. It isn’t incomplete. It isn’t one he does in face of the world. His eyes regain some of their radiancy, like a beacon even in the smothering darkness, the scarlet ladened with a resolution.

“What do you mean, Wonwoo?” Mingyu asks, unease lacing the thumping in his chest.

Both of their faces are unobscured, emotions laid bare between the two of them, free for both to take, to ravage, to ruin, to salvage.

“I wouldn’t let myself come to see you in such way. I love you too much for that.” Wonwoo takes Mingyu’s stunned silence to lace their fingers together, a second of rushed wistfulness, before slipping down and letting his arms hang limp on his side. “If anyone is to end a part of me tonight, I would be the one to do it. I would be the sole person I would hate.”

The undulating of Mingyu’s feelings stop for all of them to collapse in on themselves and sweep Mingyu off of his feet. His throat feels dry, his chest constricted. The burn under his eyes return for a profoundly different reason than before, but it sears his heart with the same intensity.

He’s alight with a freezing heat. Intermittent in their effort to submerge Mingyu.

No. No—Wonwoo couldn’t do this.

Mingyu has worked through an arduous path to build his resolve. He’s rebuilt all these walls only for Wonwoo to dismantle them on the night where they matter the most.

He doesn’t want this—He has accepted the possibility of Wonwoo despising him, but for Wonwoo to come forth and say all these words—As if he doesn’t matter, as if this wouldn’t tear Mingyu asunder—Mingyu felt all the bones ache until he’s close to feeling nothing.

Pulling Wonwoo closer, Mingyu grips Wonwoo’s shoulder with desperation clawing every inch of his body.

“Wonwoo you— “

One of Wonwoo’s crow squawks, then, a blood curdling scream pierces the air, cutting Mingyu short.

Mingyu jolts with alertness. Before long, the smell of blood reaches his nose, and, by the tensing of his shoulders, Wonwoo’s smelled it too.

Mingyu is still floating in a state of numbness, mind far too enclosed in a casing of confusion. But his body cajoles him to run; an instantaneous reaction he’s honed for years.

Wonwoo’s form disappear from underneath Mingyu’s hands, the forest warping behind him. The air that enters his lungs burn as though poison.

He runs, runs and runs until he’s back to the courtyard. But he isn’t fast enough.

Red stains the cobblestone of the courtyard, most of the nobles were standing still in suspense, their senses not quite catching up with the situation at hand.

As the body crumples to the ground, eyes forever locked in a mortified cry for help, it starts. The screams. People scrambling to remove themselves from the vicinity of a murder. Trampling whatever stands in their way as they attempt to save themselves before anyone else.

And amongst the franticness of people fleeing from the scene, Mingyu sees _him_. He hasn’t seen Jisoo in person before, but he knows.

The demented spark that surrounds him was an indication if any, an electric crackle around his taut form. His dark, unkempt locks ruffled by the wind, shrouding the face of a slayer.

He brings both his hands up, coloured scarlet without even an inch of skin showing, elongated claws slowly returning to their original form. They’re not trembling, but he remains staring at the both of them before clenching both of them close.

Jisoo looks up from the dripping red from his hands. His gaze finds Mingyu in an instant, apprehension reflecting through them.

He recognises Mingyu as an opponent.

Before Jisoo could move, Mingyu feels a presence saddle up to his side. Without so much as a glance, he knows it’s Wonwoo.

“Jisoo,” Wonwoo says, a mask of sedated threat in his cadence.

A manic glee presents itself on Jisoo’s face. “Ah, Wonwoo,” he says, eyes crinkling in a smile. “Are you still attempting to put an end to me?”

It feels deranged, and Mingyu has a hard time envisioning Jisoo as the man Wonwoo told him about just moments ago.

He’s a far-cry to what Wonwoo described him as.

This was a man who has someone he holds dear held captive for an ambition that doesn’t even concern him. Someone who has been manipulated, tricked and left with no option but to comply, despite his capabilities.

“I have never said that,” Wonwoo answers, tone firm.

Jisoo struts closer, sullied coat trailing in the wind behind him as he walks.

Mingyu lowers his body as a precaution, hands tight and poised to strike if needed.

Despite eyeing Mingyu as he walks, Jisoo ignores him and only stops when he’s in front of Wonwoo.

“You never did, that’s true,” Jisoo hums, smile tightening before it disappears completely. His countenance morphed to one of a man capable of carnage with his bare hands. A sharp and harsh manner in which he presents himself, face devoid of any emotions.

Mingyu feels a shiver travelling down his spine but holds it back. He couldn’t show any sign of resignation, of himself being intimidated. Though, Jisoo without a doubt noticed.

“You can’t even bring yourself to kill me, Wonwoo,” He says, “you’ve always been too compassionate for that. But I don’t know about your friend here.” Jisoo tilts his head towards Mingyu, and Mingyu grits his teeth. “And even if he doesn’t, I know you’re here to stop me. For anything to happen to Jeonghan—that’s the same as slaying me.”

The scent of ill intent alerts Mingyu before anything else. Air shifts around them as Wonwoo remains entranced with surprise.

Wonwoo is unseeing of what’s to come, but Mingyu’s aware of the movement.

Raising a swift hand upwards, the limb morphing to accommodate his elongated claws, Jisoo turns into a sharpened sword aiming to kill.

Mingyu surges forward and does the single thing he was able to do. Jisoo’s legs buckle due to the force of Mingyu slamming into him. As both of them stumble backs, Mingyu’s back flares with pain.

The fabric of the doublet offers little protection, Jisoo’s claws ripping his skin underneath. Heavy, warm liquid trickles down his back. Mingyu steps backwards the moment he has a chance to, keeping his distance and catching his breath.

He only hopes it heals fast enough. The sensation of his skin stitching itself back together hits him. It’s slow, an oddity and disadvantageous. Mingyu endures it and brushes it away.

It’s the distinct tang of his blood that breaks Wonwoo out of his stupor. The horror on his face is palpable. And Mingyu could only grasp what he must feel—a former mentor so willing to strike him down.

“Jeonghan? The deceased prince?” Wonwoo asks, voice raised. He receives nothing in return as Jisoo lunges once more.

Mingyu leaps to the side, making sure Jisoo’s eyes were on him and steering both of them away from Wonwoo. Only his clothes tear this time from the very tips of the vampire’s swing.

Jisoo is fast and precise in his strikes, Mingyu barely able to dodge even with the rush of adrenaline. They dance in a heated clash, Jisoo inching closer, and closer to striking Mingyu with every swing.

“Quite the fighter aren’t you, hunter?” Jisoo doesn’t waste time waiting for an answer, hand lashing out in a blur of motion.

Mingyu holds his right hand up, not quick enough in his evasion. A cry of pain escapes his lips without wanting to.

Four of Jisoo’s fingers are lodged deep on Mingyu’s forearm, his sharpened claw mere inches from Mingyu’s face. His own blood splatters on his face, none going into his eyes, but a drop lands on his mouth and he spits. The taste of iron repulses him.

He has faced pain before, took them with stride as a part of him that proves he’s alive and not a phantom travelling the world without so much as a meaning. Yet Jisoo’s limb lodged in his has black fogging up the edge of his vision.

The groan slipping out is unintentional, the world going bleary but Mingyu persists in holding Jisoo in place. Despite bearing great pain for it. Despite knowing this might just be the end for him.

In an instant, Jisoo draws his other hand back for another killing swing.

“Mingyu!”

Wonwoo’s scream got drowned by the rush of several footsteps surrounding them. And Jisoo stops to comprehend the situation.

They’re Seungcheol’s guards—nine of them—red sash blazing around their arms. Quite late to the fray but a welcomed distraction, in the very least. No other guards were in sight, cowering from the presence of an occult being they have no power in facing.

As any other ordinary fighter, Mingyu knows they wouldn’t stand a chance in this fight, let alone even survive through this ordeal.

Jisoo glances around and Mingyu takes the opportunity to snap his free hand upwards, but it isn’t enough. He’s not enough.

His movement was too wide, too blatant in its attempt to injure Jisoo. It’s as though the years of both tactful and gruesome fights behind Mingyu is ebbing away, leaving him a bumbling novice in the face of a fiend.

With both his hands vaulted in place and blood still dripping at an alarming rate, Mingyu wanes on his feet.

“Now, this isn’t exactly fair, is it?” Jisoo snarls.

The guards close in, cautious.

Jisoo’s head snapped sideways, catching the wisp of dark smoke rushing towards the both of them before Mingyu does.

Without so much as hesitation, he uses their conjoined limbs to lift Mingyu up. The immense strength renders Mingyu surprised and helpless as Jisoo throws him sideways as if he’s nothing but a trivial nuisance in his path.

The ground strikes hard on the back of his head. He gasps, a forced intake of breath due to the impact. It causes Mingyu’s mind to spin with stars for a good portion of time.

Wonwoo managed to release Jisoo’s hold on Mingyu—albeit in a harsh manner—but isn’t as successful in striking Jisoo. His hesitation is clear in the way he halts before reaching the other vampire.

Jisoo bounds away and take the missing presence of an opposing force to rid the guards surrounding them. He’s swift in his approach, using the guise of moving smoke to reach each and every single one of those guards, felling them without problem.

Cradling his hand close as he writhes on the ground, Mingyu remains aware of their surroundings. Each cry of pain from the guards sends a cleave down his chest as he struggles to stand.

They didn’t even have the chance to seize Jisoo in battle.

Hands come to rest on his shoulder and Wonwoo comes into view, assessing him with unbridled fear in his countenance. He shouldn’t have went for Mingyu.

“Why?” Mingyu wheezes out as he supports himself on his hands, Wonwoo’s firm hold aiding him in getting back on his feet. “You should have…”

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t—seeing you like this—“

“I don’t matter!” Mingyu regrets the heightening of his voice as Wonwoo blanches. Lips parted in soundless shock.

They don’t have time for this.

A sinister chuckle has both of them diverting their attentions. Jisoo is approaching again, hands stained an even deeper red, the aforementioned colour now also evident on his lips.

“How heartless of you to argue in midst of all this.”

“You’re making no sense,” Mingyu growls, shrugging Wonwoo’s hands off him. “You dare say that when you’re slaughtering all these innocent people?”

The courtyard is now deserted, only the three of them standing on the crimson cobblestone. None moved to strike; Wonwoo chained by reluctance; Jisoo seeing them as frivolous threats; Mingyu hindered by his injured limb and of the knowledge that even he isn’t on par with Jisoo.

“Oh, don’t bore me with those sentiments. Don’t tell me Wonwoo has invested his foolish benevolence in you. What are these lives to you, anyway?”

Mingyu doesn’t find himself answering, a null void as he searches for a reason.

Isn’t his reason for fighting here, one that has wormed its way as Mingyu’s first priority, standing right next to him? And wouldn’t they able to carry on if they were to walk away right this instance?

Mingyu turns to Wonwoo. His mind still hasn’t formed an answer.

Jisoo hums in what is perhaps satisfaction. “They’re all huddled up in there, such simple-minded creatures.” Jisoo points at the great hall, the doors now closed.

Then, he disappears and the door flies open.

A sudden heaviness drapes over him as the cacophony of screams starts again. 

Fledglings of new flesh were growing in, his arm starting to recover in haste, but Mingyu remains unmoving.

It’s, to Mingyu’s surprise, Wonwoo who moves in pursuit first. But he halts again when he sees Mingyu not following. “Mingyu?”

“I…” Mingyu folds his head down, eyes losing focus. He tries to collect his bearings, but he couldn’t—he’s so, so tired.

Confusion dances in Wonwoo’s irises, standing torn between both Mingyu and Jisoo. It’s like he’s facing an unseen battle, but Mingyu knows what thoughts are running in Wonwoo's mind. Wonwoo takes a deep breath, before turning, resuming to his chase. He disappears into the wails of anguish, vanishing from Mingyu’s sight.

Mingyu grips his right forearm, squeezing so the pain turns vivid.

He should go.

Moonlight reflects on the scarlet ground all around him, tantalising, a dull glimmer that inundates his vision with red. He couldn’t let Seungcheol return to a city coloured red, couldn’t let a kingdom fall when he has the will and chance to stop fate.

He should go.

There isn’t a timeline where he would let Wonwoo succumb to death for him. Where he would let Wonwoo bear his sins alone.

Mingyu needs to _go._

With a jolt in his legs, Mingyu nearly soars through the courtyard until the suffocating walls of the great hall surrounds him. The flames of the torches flicker with the wind he carries.

Splatters of red decorate the once clean walls, tables overturned with drinks and food spilled on the ground, people scattered in an attempt to further themselves away from the centre of the hall, where Jisoo is pinning someone down, and underneath him—

_Wonwoo._

Mingyu’s heart knotted in surprise, the rate with which worry and distress cascade over him is swift.

Wonwoo’s shoulder is pinned down by one of Jisoo’s claws, the sharp tips digging through the stone tile beneath it. A clean puncture. The smell of Wonwoo’s blood invades Mingyu’s senses, the liquid flowing towards him.

And yet, Wonwoo keeps a firm grip on Jisoo’s arm, keeping the limb in place. His other hand trembles as he keeps Jisoo’s free hand from reaching his neck.

“Are you truly doing this, Jisoo?” Mingyu’s never heard Wonwoo sound this livid, but all he hears is the sadness lacing those words. “All this destruction and blood for one person?”

Jisoo pushes forward, hands scraping Wonwoo’s neck, drawing blood. “You would never understand, Wonwoo. You hold those feelings for your own sake, not for others. For all your claims of loving life, you have never experienced _love.”_

Mingyu knows he should act, save Wonwoo and put an end to everything, but he can’t. His legs refuse to move him forward, as though bewitched to stay rooted.

People stream on either side of him, escaping with short breaths and frenzied steps, eyes scrambling behind to make sure the vampire isn’t following them.

Ones who remain are a couple of guards. They’re cowered in fright, sticking to the walls like stone ornaments.

The room turns deadly quiet.

Wonwoo’s next words reach Mingyu with sharp clarity.

“I have.” Wonwoo glances his way, a fond glint in his eyes.

A twinge in his chest propels Mingyu forward. His legs and eyes burn as he moves. A heavy weight bears down on his chest from Wonwoo’s words, breath seemingly stuck in his throat.

“Lies.” Jisoo growls, hands shaking with exertion.

There’s an abandoned glaive on the floor near Mingyu, one that must’ve once belonged to a guard. He fetches it, breaks the shaft in two to allow for a faster speed and draws his hand back.

When Jisoo notices Mingyu fast approaching, he turns stoic, as if centralising every ounce of his attention to his strength. With a grunt, he dislodges his hand from Wonwoo’s shoulder, blood dripping down each of his fingers.

Mingyu throws the glaive. It soars, ripping through the air in a straight line. Only a slight window of time is available for the weapon to strike.

It closes the distance between them, the silver blade aimed straight for Jisoo. It glides, closer and closer—

In a quick, successful motion—one unforeseen to Mingyu—Jisoo rolls sideways. His hands are still in Wonwoo’s grip, the momentum of his movement bringing Wonwoo upwards.

Mingyu’s heart drops.

The glaive lands on flesh.

Another slew of red fills Mingyu’s sight, and this time he feels horror growing in him, circling around him like vines. His step falters, legs losing their strength as he watches Wonwoo cry in surprise. His ears ring, hollowing any other previous thoughts he had.

Wonwoo releases his grip on both Jisoo’s arms, then before he could even collapse, he’s thrown to the side.

For a moment, Jisoo slips out of Mingyu’s mind as his arms flail to catch Wonwoo.

Mingyu manages to grab Wonwoo, mindful of the weapon protruding out of his side, finding balance as he attempts to keep his legs firm on the ground.

The impact of has Mingyu stopping in his tracks. His breath comes out weighted, a sudden difficulty that constricts his chest. Wonwoo feels cold.

His arms now a secure but delicate grip around Wonwoo, Mingyu lets himself fall, knees thumping against the stone floor.

“Wonwoo,” he breathes out, voice almost mute in the silence. “Wonwoo,” he repeats, hands trembling as he sets the vampire down, gently. “ _Fuck,_ I— “

A groan splits Wonwoo’s lips, gaze out of focus. He blinks, once, twice, until he regains clarity and bites his lips as the wave of pain must’ve hit him. Once the shock subsided, Wonwoo reaches his hand out to the glaive, then he grips it.

“No, don’t— “

The broken glaive clatters to the ground with a loud clang, and with it, another wave of red.

Wonwoo’s breathing is ragged, chest heaving in an effort to catch his bearings. His skin turns pale, losing the radiance that never failed to let Mingyu know Wonwoo is alive—it’s gone.

Keeping his hands secure on Wonwoo as the vampire sits up, Mingyu feels what little warmth Wonwoo has slipping away.

“I’m fine.”

Mingyu swallows the quiver in his voice. “It’s silver.”

“It’s not your fault,” Wonwoo says, the sentence steady in spite of everything. “It’s not your fault.”

Wonwoo isn’t a liar—far from it. The words ring true, and yet Mingyu lets the hatred for himself ravage over him. Unable to do anything to invert what he’s done, Mingyu only hopes his hold could convey his feelings.

He pulls Wonwoo in, a dazed, selfish, desire to melt into him and disregard their surroundings.

He couldn’t. Mingyu doesn’t deserve to do as such, and he needs to see this through.

A blur of motion in the corner of his eyes garner Mingyu’s attention. Jisoo stands, face an unreadable mask of emptiness as his gaze lingers on Wonwoo’s debilitated form.

Mingyu guesses it’s regret that caused the momentary closing of his eyes, it’s as though Jisoo refuses to see the consequences of his actions. Whatever it might be, it has been done and Mingyu holds him with renewed loathing.

Both for himself and the vampire.

The throne stands behind Jisoo, a mocking image of grandeur amidst the ongoing chaos. And behind the grand table which holds the feast for the king, is Hyuk.

One single guard is beside him, face carved in petrified fear, hands just hovering above Hyuk’s relaxed form; perhaps to usher the king out.

The sight sets a heat in Mingyu and it doesn’t take him long to realise it as anger. He hasn’t the will to act on it, though, Wonwoo’s still weakened state at the forefront of his mind.

Jisoo’s silence unsettles him but Mingyu’s grateful for the brief moment of inaction.

Wonwoo discards his jacket, the sudden strain eliciting a muffled groan from him. He must’ve been trying to suppress it, a useless gesture as Mingyu more than knows the burn of the holy metal against their skin, the itch as it tries to stitch itself back together but couldn’t.

The once white blouse Wonwoo wore is now torn at the side. Red seeps throughout the fabric, starting to stain even the delicate ruffles that decorate the front of his chest.

Wonwoo wraps his jacket around his torso, tying it into a tight knot. His breathes are still short and weighted.

Mingyu senses dread buzzing around his head. He wouldn’t want the vision he had to turn into reality.

“Please, let me handle this Wonwoo.”

As Mingyu moves to stand, a demanding hold pulls him back downwards. The look on Wonwoo’s face has him reeling in disarray.

Prolonged silence blankets the vast hall, none of the occupants saying a word nor making a move—a stifling muteness that allows Mingyu to think, eyes lost in Wonwoo’s.

It now becomes clearer to Mingyu that Jisoo isn’t here by his own will; merely a puppet to the tyrant standing before him. He could have chased the nobles that had flee, fly pass Mingyu and Wonwoo without a regard for the both of them.

He was determined to strike Wonwoo down before, and yet now that Wonwoo lies bloodied on the ground, hands clutched on his side in a futile effort to contain the pain, Jisoo doesn’t make a single move. His hostility subdued behind his rigid stature.

Then, as thunderous as a war-horn in the midst of a raging battlefield, Hyuk screams. “You fool, what are you doing?”

His bellow of rage and frustration reverberates throughout the whole room, stunning the few souls left in it.

“They’re escaping. All of them are fleeing. What are you doing standing around doing absolutely nothing?” Hyuk all but barks. “Do I need to remind you of what’s at stake once more? I hold your world in its entirety in my palms, _vampire_."

Turning his head, movement slow with its intent to hold Hyuk down in a fierce stare, Jisoo looks nothing short of vexed, a brewing darkness clouding his expression.

The guard near Hyuk steps back in shock, face struck with disbelief of what has spilled from his ruler’s mouth. His previous goal to coax the king into safety now forgotten.

Jisoo stays still and holds his stare. There’s an unprecedented reluctance surrounding him, his shoulders tense in what perhaps is reluctance instead of readiness for combat.

Sudden in its hastiness, the snapping of Jisoo’s head jolts Mingyu straight even with Wonwoo holding him down.

A torn resolve burns in Jisoo’s eyes, the red crying a silent desperation. He breaks into a sprint in a blur of motion that doesn’t escape Mingyu.

This time Mingyu meets him halfway, and it must’ve been due to Jisoo’s abrupt disinclination that Mingyu manages to land a heavy hit on his chest. Not quite a killing blow; Mingyu keeps his fists balled as he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

But Mingyu persists, delivering swing after swing.

Jisoo merely evades amidst all of it, hands glued to his side. His movements are swift and accurate, indicating that he’s able to escape without trouble, but he doesn’t. He’s stalling.

Seeing an opening, Mingyu sweeps his leg forward. Jisoo loses his footing and stumbles, and Mingyu’s right there to catch him. 

Mingyu retains an iron hold around Jisoo. It isn’t bruising, Jisoo motionless in his arms.

To anyone else, it looks like nothing more than an embrace—albeit one ladened with cautiousness and spite—but Mingyu has a hand tight against Jisoo’s chest, right above his heart.

The heartbeat Mingyu feels is almost nonexistent, a common trait to vampires, and yet it’s antithetic to Wonwoo’s. It is barred from life, languid—weak. A tinge of sympathy tinges Mingyu’s purpose.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu whispers, to which Jisoo clenches his jaw.

The silence rings, time fraying in its edges as they both are unsure of what to do, both hindered by their own demons. Mingyu just has to drive his hands forward and everything would be over.

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo calls and says nothing more. Mingyu doesn’t miss the pleading tine falling with every syllable of his name.

But he doesn’t say a word. He maintains his position, keeping Jisoo in place and not letting his grip go lax.

Mingyu hears Wonwoo approaching, hears his pained gait through his slightly laboured breathing and his audible footsteps.

“Don’t.”

Shutting his eyes and biting his lips, Mingyu heaves a breath. He wouldn’t let Wonwoo do that to himself.

“You mongrel, stop loitering around and get rid of him.” Hyuk’s voice roars once more, but to no avail. Jisoo doesn’t so much as even flinch.

A hand lands on Mingyu’s arm holding Jisoo, telling him to let go. Mingyu doesn’t move.

He could bear the thought of Wonwoo despising him; it would pain him for centuries to come but it wouldn’t compare to what he knows Wonwoo loathing himself would do to both him and Wonwoo. Wonwoo is dear to him, so, so dear to him and Mingyu doesn’t want to lose him. Even when he has to bear the sins himself.

Mingyu draws his hand back and readies himself. He only needs to drive his hands forward. Forward and through, and everything would be over.

It isn’t a daunting task physically, but Mingyu’s arms remain suspended in the air. He doesn’t know if the tremble that wracks him is due to his concentration or something else.

With a short, sharp intake of breath, Mingyu comes to a decision with an unwavering resolve.

It’s Wonwoo, dancing in a vivid imagery, that permeates in Mingyu’s mind, like a painting crafted by the most astute artist, all the idyllic beauty and grace with none of the misery behind the piece.

His arm tenses, but before Mingyu’s able to strike, a sudden sound interrupts him.

Wonwoo has looped his arm against Mingyu’s own in a dire grip, but it isn’t what halts Mingyu.

All three of them hears it. Even Jisoo stops hanging his head down low in slight alertness and Wonwoo loosens his hold on Mingyu.

It’s a rushing of footsteps, and Mingyu finds it all too familiar, a faint memory of him leaving a place due to the thundering march of men. This time, though, Mingyu stays and awaits whoever was coming.

The part of him that hopes has an inkling of an idea of who it was, and it’s what it does— _hopes_ for it to be true.

Mingyu’s heart thrums in his ribcage without wanting to as they approach. The almost rhythmic symphony of footsteps gets louder before ebbing away and only the footsteps of one, single person remains going forward.

The smell of familiar leather hits him before he comes into view.

Though parts of his face are riddled with soot, his eyes red from lack of sleep and opened wide in distraught, breathing strained as he nearly stumbles in to the hall, the purpose in his eyes pierces through the room.

What Mingyu notices next, something— _someone_ —that is perhaps the reason behind the hitch in Jisoo’s breath, is the person laying limp in Seungcheol’s arms.

Seungcheol has found him. Seungcheol has found Jeonghan.

“Captain?” Exclaims Hyuk, getting closer. His tone drips with distraught, voice rattling with unconstrained fear that isn’t there before. “What is the meaning of this?”

Seungcheol’s lips remain a thin line, disregarding the king as he steps forward.

Long, dull blond hair sways in his arms as he walks. A weakness underpins the silence of the man in Seungcheol’s arms, his gaunt body jerking with every movement Seungcheol makes but there’s a struggle in his breath.

Jeonghan lifts his head and his bleary gaze finds Jisoo.

The vampire gasps at the sight, even though he must’ve smelled him.

With a speed unprecedented even in the fight before, Jisoo shoves Mingyu backwards and as Wonwoo tightens his hold to keep Mingyu from tumbling, Jisoo flies past them and straight towards Seungcheol.

The captain only has so much time to react. He stops in his tracks and stands his ground, arms tightening on instinct. But it’s useless.

Jisoo flings Seungcheol to the side, the captain helpless to it as he releases his hold on Jeonghan due to the force.

For a moment, Jeonghan drifts in the air. But Jisoo is there. He’s there and his hands reach out. The motion isn’t harsh, a sudden softness and care filling his whole being as he reaches out and catches.

The air doesn’t as much shift, the room stilling as Jisoo goes down to his knees. He curls his arms closer to himself, letting Jeonghan close, letting his defences crumble. One last exhale brings Jisoo’s shoulders down.

Perhaps it’s Mingyu’s vision eluding him, but the glitter of tears spilling down Jisoo’s cheeks tells of years of grieve and longing.

A feeling Mingyu isn’t unacquainted with. He knows what Jisoo went through. Mingyu feels a sorrowful twinge travel inside his chest, one that has him pulling Wonwoo a tad bit closer without realising.

They both don’t say a word, don’t move an inch. Wonwoo eventually releases his hold on Mingyu, standing next to him instead.

Both their will to stop Jisoo dissipates into the quiet air, almost tangible as they adsorb the scene unfolding before them. One of reconciliation, a cordial note amongst the cacophony of chaos, one filled with love, relief, and gratefulness.

Jeonghan’s frail hand rises up to caress Jisoo’s head under his touch. Then, after a small smile, he buries his head on Jisoo’s chest, hiding his joy from the world.

It’s near painful to watch. As though Mingyu’s watching something he shouldn’t; something that isn’t meant to be shared with the universe.

One single grunt has Mingyu concerned, however, as Seungcheol recovers from the impact of his fall. Without wanting to, Mingyu moves away from Wonwoo to check on the captain.

“Seungcheol,” says Mingyu, hands steady on the older’s back. He helps Seungcheol sit up, waiting for him to gain his bearings. “You’ve done it.”

There’s blood trailing down the side of the captain’s face, coming from a small scrape slashing through his right eyebrow; it’s nothing serious, friction with the stone flooring the main cause of the wound.

After Seungcheol blinks what must’ve been a headache away, he appraises Mingyu with a relieved look, his countenance one of fatigue. “I’ve done it.” He nods, but it’s filled with unsureness. “Have I?”

Mingyu tilts his head towards the moulded forms of Jisoo and Jeonghan, both of them still revelling in each other’s presence, unperturbed by everything around them.

“I don’t think it’s in anyone’s interest to fight anymore.”

The ease that settles in Mingyu’s heart isn’t peaceful in its entirety, a splinter of doubt tugging at the edge of it. And it’s clear Seungcheol notices.

“Mingyu…are you fine with this?” Seungcheol ignores the warm liquid still on his face, sincerity unchanging in his question. “I know this is what you asked of me—what you wished for. And it is also the resolution we agreed on, but you…”

Something bitter colours his smile. “It has never been a habit of mine to let go of someone who has done such things, yet I— “Mingyu swallows the doubt away “—I believe this is the right thing to do. For everyone.”

Seungcheol nods once more, assuring Mingyu that he’s with him, if the look in his eyes are anything to go by. And as always, Mingyu holds Seungcheol’s trust dear.

A sense of finality overcomes Mingyu, his heart no longer burdened by the multitudinous thoughts and worries his mind held on to for what felt like a millennium.

Mingyu helps Seungcheol up, keeping his hold on him as the captain winces and grunts.

“Now, on to the matter of the king,” Seungcheol grumbles with the faintest hint of venom in his lilt.

And as if on cue, Hyuk enters both of their field of view, standing too close to Wonwoo for Mingyu’s liking. The man no longer has reservations, no fear for his life as he watches his plans crumble in front of him.

His face florid with anger, Hyuk stomps his way over to Jisoo. “No. Stop this instance. I assure you, if you don’t cease to— “

Hyuk's voice and step falters when Jisoo raises his head to hold him in a menacing glare. The king’s heart pounds, the sound deafening in Mingyu’s ears.

“You.”

It’s spite bundled in a tranquil pretext. It sends a chill throughout Mingyu’s being.

Slowly, softly, Jisoo lays Jeonghan down, hands lingering around each other before rising to face Hyuk. His tears haven’t dried yet. “You’re the reason behind all of this.”

It seems as though Hyuk has only started to realise how much of a threat Jisoo is now that he’s no longer in control. A distinct fear paints Hyuk’s cowering form. He steps back but stops, engulfed by fright.

Jisoo’s intention pierces the room with conviction, a lodged arrow fitted to shoot. He steps forward, slow at first, eyes never leaving Hyuk.

A faint whisper sways Mingyu to let it play out, to not intervene, yet he knows it isn’t right. Hyuk is a monster born out of greed but Mingyu couldn’t let Jisoo end him.

It’s this momentary hesitation, this slight moment of staying still, that costs Mingyu.

Mingyu pushes his legs to move. He tries but he’s too far—too slow in his response.

Time appears to stretch the minutes that follow after Mingyu’s cry of warning, his vision heightens to a point where every inch of muscle is as clear as the moon hanging in a cloudless sky, every sound grating his ears, every smell a jab at his nose.

And what transpires rends his heart apart.

Mingyu thought he has seen enough. That no more would be loss tonight. But oh, how fate always has the interest to prove what he believes as wrong.

The horror that struck the plane of Jisoo’s face doesn’t even begin to cover the raging emotions coalescing in Mingyu’s chest. He feels the tears before his mind catches up to what has happened.

As before, Jisoo is precise in his strike, brute in his force to avenge his pain.

Wonwoo, despite the blood still trickling down his side, despite the paleness still evident on his skin, despite the slight perspiration running down his face, rushes to Hyuk.

Mingyu’s vision faded the instance it happens, darkened static clogging his view. The last he's seen is Jisoo lunging, Wonwoo moving to stop him—

A wisp of air, and something plunges, deep. Mingyu smells another onslaught of tangy copper.

Time moves excruciatingly slow, Mingyu’s legs not carrying him fast enough. A painful thump in his chest causes the air to leave his lungs. He struggles for breath, ears ringing and black dotting his vision, but he keeps moving.

Jisoo stumbles backwards, appalled, bloodied hand leaving Wonwoo’s chest in haste, but nothing could revert the damage.

One, heavy cough has Wonwoo curling in on himself, hands a tight grip on his chest.

It’s coming true—Mingyu swallows the bile as he remembers his vision.

His knees buckle as he wounds his arms around Wonwoo, both of them collapsing to the ground for the second time that night. It’s almost amusing; a morbid repetition of his mistake.

Although it isn’t his misdeed that caused this, Mingyu welcomes the returning frustration clinging around his chest. This time, the words are caught in his throat.

Wonwoo remains still in his lap, face twisted and teeth gritted to reign the pain in. His eyes are jammed shut, a single droplet rolling down his cheeks but Wonwoo tries his best to keep his agony from showing.

A thousand thoughts race in his mind that Mingyu can’t even make out a single one. It’s as if he’s been doused with molten water, every inch of him enshrouded with sorrow and yet he’s close to numbness.

Mingyu doesn’t—refuses to accept that Wonwoo’s heart has been struck.

The red doesn’t stop blooming despite the pressure Wonwoo’s applying, now doubled with Mingyu’s own. The warm liquid seeps in between their fingers, and with each passing second, Wonwoo’s breathing gets shallower, and shallower.

Next comes Seungcheol, kneeling right in front of Mingyu. His eyes are dripping with worry, hands fussing above Mingyu’s but doesn’t come close.

“He’s losing too much blood.” Jisoo’s voice trembles, hollow.

Mingyu doesn’t need to be told that. The wound on Wonwoo’s side must’ve drained the last of his energy, it refusing to close due to the silver. Wonwoo doesn’t have much left to heal this wound. To heal his heart.

“He’s losing too much blood, you need to— “

“Leave.” Mingyu growls, holding Jisoo’s aghast expression with a dark stare.

Jisoo's eyes flash with a myriad of emotions, each of them clear unlike before and it’s as though he doesn’t want to leave. Hesitance grips Jisoo, swallowing heavily. Then, he fetches Jeonghan, and disappears.

Another pair of scurrying footsteps resound throughout the halls and Mingyu knows it’s Hyuk, but he couldn’t afford to care.

The captain, however, also notices Hyuk’s departure, and his eyes circle back and forth from the retreating figure of the king to Wonwoo—unsure.

“Captain,” Mingyu says, affording a confirming nod. “You should capture him. Hold him liable for all of this.”

Seungcheol’s lips form a thin, hard line, but he nods back, knowing what Mingyu's asked of him and leaves with one last, lingering look at the both of them.

Mingyu doesn't watch Seungcheol leave, eyes going hazy. 

Now left alone with Wonwoo, Mingyu lets his tears run amok, the warm liquid a contrast to the icy ones on his hands. They’re unrelenting, and Mingyu has nothing left of him.

“Please.” His voice breaks at the end, a small sob wracking his body.

“It will heal,” Wonwoo wheezes with great effort, voice nothing but a whisper.

“No. No, not fast enough for you to survive.”

Mingyu knows Wonwoo knows this.

Wonwoo averts his eyes, “Then perhaps— “

“Don’t fucking say that.”

Mingyu has nothing left. He has nothing.

And if he were to lose Wonwoo—Mingyu would truly be nothing. He would cease to have a chance to see both of them grow, to revel in the hope that they both bring to each other.

An idea forms in his mind, one that Wonwoo would undoubtedly refuse, but Mingyu holds on to it. Mingyu hasn’t the capacity to care about Wonwoo’s hate of seeing another one suffer. Not when it would cost Wonwoo’s own life.

Removing his hands from atop Wonwoo’s, Mingyu reaches out and pulls the collar of his doublet, the expensive fabric tearing effortlessly under his hands. He touches his neck, right above his carotid.

“No— “a pained pause “—no. I can’t do that, Mingyu.”

“Please. I beg of you, Wonwoo. You’re acting so selfishly. Do you realise that?”

Wonwoo’s mouth closes, words dying before they could be enunciated.

“I’ve forgiven you. I have forgiven you before you came here, but I will never forgive you for willing your life to be lost. You love me too much to loathe me? Have you even thought about how I feel?”

It’s fading. Wonwoo’s faint heartbeat is declining and it sends cold panic in Mingyu.

The world a blurred due to his tears, Mingyu blinks them away before sliding an arm below Wonwoo’s head. He brings him closer, face inches away from each other.

“I’m more afraid than anything, Wonwoo. I’m terrified. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” Mingyu keeps his gaze on Wonwoo’s scarlet, tears running out and Mingyu recognises the feeble warmth budding in his chest, despite his convoluted state. “I’ve had time to think about it. I’m a fool for most things I do, but I can’t take this rose growing in my chest as anything else than the truth. The world has me believing I don’t deserve to have any permanence in life, that I’m nothing but a husk to serve a greater purpose, but not with you. Never with you. You're dear to me, Wonwoo, more than I could ever prove in my lifetime. I love you, truly. So, please. If not for you, then for me.”

Wonwoo's stunned, his eyes shifting to display his emotions but they never settle on one.

Mingyu responds to Wonwoo’s silence with a warm smile. He says nothing more, merely bringing Wonwoo closer again, until Wonwoo’s weak breaths fan over his neck.

It feels odd, a tingle going down his spine at the feeling of Wonwoo being so close to him in this manner.

Mingyu can only hope Wonwoo would accept his offer. For his sake. For both their sakes.

After a prolonged span of inaction, Wonwoo rests his hand behind Mingyu’s neck. He pulls him even closer.

Relief floods over Mingyu in calming waves. 

It’s in his knowledge of how little restraint a vampire can hold when they’re injured, their natural instincts taking over logic and their body striving to live clouding every other rationality. Wonwoo’s years of abstinence has the chance of inducing this state, too.

He doesn’t find it in him to care, Mingyu muses, as the vampire in his arms is the sole thing he’s able to conjure up in his mind, banishing any doubt.

The shape of Wonwoo’s lips is prominent against Mingyu’s skin when Wonwoo speaks. “I…thank you, Mingyu. And forgive me.”

Mingyu finds himself saying nothing, merely tightening his hold around Wonwoo in reassurance.

A pinpricking pain shoots through his neck. It starts small, negligible, yet before long, Mingyu’s whole body runs alight with searing pain. He can feel a whimper bubbling up his throat but keeps it at bay. He doesn’t want Wonwoo to stop.

Curling in closer, Mingyu moves his head and buries it on Wonwoo’s shoulder. He breathes in, finding the familiar roses amidst the various scents permeating in the air.

It’s as though he’s found his home again even in this chaos.

Mingyu holds on until the last threads of light leaves his vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am terribly sorry for the long, long overdue update. in between the last weeks of the semester and finals, i feel like this chapter is a mountain to go through. no matter how many times i go through it, i never seem to be satisfied, even now. but here it is!
> 
> with this i can say that the plot has concluded. as always, thank you so much for reading ♡!
> 
> [reference](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/218706125631579032/?nic_v1=1bbq9KHo6ZkCAkhuxMqyLk46VdVJm8a3x8o2lp47RjPExa5oAlRNIM0q6Tr%2BalViVs) for wonwoo's clothing.


	9. infinitum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been A while, I have no excuse but I hope everyone's doing well. I feel like my writing has changed, somehow...so early warning for that (also early apology for some cliches). But technicalities aside, we're finally here folks, the last chapter!! I can barely believe it but I'm starting to ramble now, I'll meet you at the end note :)

How many times has Mingyu been here, drifting, weightless in a sea of endless memories and stifled dreams?

Quite a lot, he surmises, ever since the night he discovered bloodshed in the grounds of Sol, he’s been here a few times, more than he has ever been in his whole lifetime.

It’s as though the universe had emblazoned deep in Mingyu’s path a sign which spells, with great detail, that the weeks before this are a time in which he was supposed to reconcile with parts of himself.

Losing his sense of self is like grasping dandelion seeds flittering away with the wind—deceptively easy for his half-occult nature. They tangle without effort within his mind’s grasp. Mingyu has never let himself be lenient enough for this to happen, for himself to get lost and be rendered useless amidst his search for meaning; an unsaid fear which he holds.

But he has an anchor, now. Every time he drifts away in the convoluted scape that is his mind, he always finds a shore he can moor in, no longer a lone boat lost in the waters alone. The way of which he finds this shore is already far too familiar in such a short span of time. It’s always accompanied by a velvet coldness, enveloping him with an ease Mingyu revels in.

This time, though, it’s Mingyu who seeks out instead of him being sought. Faint traces of Wonwoo dances at the edge of his consciousness, and Mingyu reaches, pulls himself out of the prolonged silence.

Blinking away the heaviness weighing down his eyelids, Mingyu groans, head spiking in protest at the sudden intrusion of awareness. His body feels like lead, as though he’s bogged down at the bottom of a lake and he’s a mere subject to the pressure.

A slight chill wracks Mingyu. Midnight wind the source of the cold greeting him, instead of the one he expects.

The ache comes a bit later, after Mingyu has managed to sit on the bed and regain some of his bearings. There’s an invisible cotton in his mouth and a similar fuzziness buzzing in his mind. For the moment, all he feels is the soreness, the lazy heat and protest from his muscles seeming to originate from one point in his body.

Mingyu’s hand brushes the base of his neck without much thought, flinches as his touch causes pain, and what he last remembered before succumbing to sleep rushes back to him.

With it comes an overbearing onrush of emotions; indiscernible from one another as Mingyu swallows the whole of them, bellies them, before spitting them back out in an attempt to keep himself afloat. It’s easier to bear what is physical rather than emotional.

Slight worry comes forth eventually; he’s somewhere familiar and yet it’s void of the sole person he yearns for.

Half of him expects Wonwoo to creak in through the door, having heard of Mingyu waking, a retelling of the first time Mingyu found himself in this room. And so he waits, ears perked, heart steady. 

The roses in the corner are wilted, moonlight streams in through the window instead of sunlight, and Mingyu’s met with complete silence.

His distress grows as a multitude of frightful possibilities flit through his mind pertaining to how Wonwoo is doing. A series of ‘what ifs’ and a blooming sense of regret already planting their roots.

It’s only the fact that he’s here, in Wonwoo’s home, that keeps Mingyu grounded. Nobody else knows this place. Nobody can possibly go pass through the wards except for the both of them. And although the room feels like a bleak facsimile of the image Mingyu remembers in his head—he is still here, and Wonwoo must be too.

He sucks in a breath before rising. What Wonwoo has taken from him must have been pretty severe for Mingyu to lose consciousness, but the drawbacks of it isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

Mingyu is still alive, for one, and only light-headedness is hindering him from flying past the doors to find Wonwoo in haste. It is with a dread in his chest that Mingyu realises it might have affected Wonwoo more than it did him. This simple knowledge tastes bitter on his tongue. This simple, undeniable, yet heart-rending knowledge drives Mingyu to move.

An idea of where Wonwoo might be has Mingyu slipping through the hall with ease, the sight of Wonwoo’s study coming into view before long. It’s empty. The candles flicker with the wind, still burning and casting shadows but Wonwoo isn’t there.

A book lay opened on the table; it hasn’t been long since it’s abandoned and the darkened blotches on the page are also new, something wet causing the stain. Hands hovering over it, Mingyu swallows the lump in his throat. 

One particular strong gust of wind ruffles his clothes, a shiver running down the planes of his exposed skin and Mingyu turns towards the source. The single tree standing firm on Wonwoo’s garden peeks through the opened window, gnarled bark casting shadows from the moonlight. Below it, right between its roots, sits a figure; small, blending in with the darkness, as if trying his best not to be visible.

It almost works; if not for Mingyu’s inclination to anything Wonwoo, he’s sure the vampire would have escaped even his notice.

As he ambles his way to the backyard, a soft neigh greets him just beyond the door.

“Hey,” Mingyu greets, hands reaching out to which Cheonji immediately nudges her muzzle in. “I miss you too. I miss you, truly, thank you for always being here.”

Amidst all the recent events Cheonji has turned into something akin to a token of the past, but his loyal steed sure is a sight for his tired, sore eyes. Breathing in her chestnut fur, Mingyu leaves a soft kiss on Cheonji’s head and stays there for a while, gathering the last missing pieces of himself.

He parted, albeit rather reluctantly, from his horse and continued on his way to the man sitting beneath the tree.

Mingyu doesn’t quite sit down besides Wonwoo, but he stops just shy of the brooding figure.

They were both unsure, but Mingyu isn’t about to concede to uncertainty after everything they’ve been through. The storm his emotions have been swirling in since the moment of his waking claws at his chest and hollows his being, before dissipating as Mingyu focuses on Wonwoo, a sea of calm displacing the darkened sky.

“Wonwoo.” A turn of the head, and Mingyu meets a brightened scarlet—fuller, livelier, more saturated than before. It isn’t Mingyu’s memory playing tricks on him. “Talk to me?”

Lips remain shut as Mingyu offers a small smile and settles himself besides Wonwoo, keeping a small distance between them. Wonwoo doesn’t move, so Mingyu doesn’t either.

His eyes return to the moon. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“I wouldn’t have chosen to not be. I wouldn’t have chosen anything else,” Mingyu says, bringing his knees in to mirror Wonwoo’s position. “I’m beyond glad you’re fine, Wonwoo.”

It’s almost curious how, despite seeming more alive, Wonwoo’s eyes still hold a sadness so thorough.

The silence returns, and Mingyu takes it in stride, expecting Wonwoo to lock his thoughts in a box somewhere hidden as he did before. But much to Mingyu’s pleasant surprise, he doesn’t.

Wonwoo wears his heart on his sleeves, keeps everything else concealed but perhaps now, in this moment, Wonwoo considers Mingyu a home he can lend his thoughts to. 

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, and these past few days I…I’ve been contemplating on how much I’m worth,” Wonwoo pauses, the thin line of his lips compelling Mingyu to speak, but the vampire continues. “If…If I was worth everything. If I was worth the risk of you not waking.”

Mingyu’s presumption proves to be true. “Wonwoo—“ Mingyu takes Wonwoo’s balled hand in his “—there’s not much I can say about how you should feel—but you are. You’re worth everything, and so much more. And as I’ve said, I wouldn’t choose to not wake up.”

A sigh that seems to take everything from him tumbles from Wonwoo’s lips. A quiver in his breath. A weakness in his wrapped hand.

“You don’t understand. I’ve gone back on everything I’ve based my life upon. I caused harm to someone else, and out of every single soul in this world, it has to be _you_ —someone I care about deeply, someone I’ve grown to love for everything and nothing in such a short amount of time. You couldn’t possibly understand how torn I am.”

“Perhaps I don’t. But that’s all in the past, there’s nothing—“

“You could have died!” 

Mingyu falls into silence, the gravity of Wonwoo’s worry washing over him.

There’s both frustration and desperation in Wonwoo’s voice of which Mingyu’s never heard before, never imagined could grace the lilt of Wonwoo’s speech. The hand he’s holding tightens—almost painful around Mingyu’s own—and when Wonwoo’s gaze meets his, Mingyu drinks the fear marring the lines of Wonwoo’s countenance.

Despite the storm threatening to return and Mingyu teetering at the edge of the water, he doesn’t find the need to reach for the surface. It’s Wonwoo who’s standing at the eye of it, reaching out for someone to take him back to shore.

And Mingyu does exactly that.

“I know, but I trusted you, and I’m here, am I not?” Before Wonwoo could rebuke his words, Mingyu pulls. The unwarned movement causes Wonwoo’s head to thump on his chest, just shy of his heart. “I returned to you, as I did before.”

Stillness settles in as Mingyu keeps his arms wound close around Wonwoo. He keeps the hold loose, giving Wonwoo the freedom to escape, to refuse. The steady beating of his heart is an honest portrayal of Mingyu’s current disposition. He doesn’t want to be anywhere but here.

Everything feels like a repeat of the events prior; Mingyu waking up in Wonwoo’s home, leaving only to return as the only place he sought was here; him returning to Wonwoo in an embrace. This time, it’s Mingyu who pulls Wonwoo closer. This time, Mingyu’s sure he’s returned to stay.

“I’m here,” Mingyu repeats. “I’m here and you’re here with me. We’re both here, and that’s all that matters.”

As much as Mingyu doesn’t mind reciting those words like a mantra, he doesn’t need to, for Wonwoo finally answers. It isn’t so much an answer as it is a physical response, but it’s one, nonetheless.

The curl of Wonwoo’s fingers on his back closes the space between them, Wonwoo’s head at the crook of his neck a weight keeping Mingyu grounded. Mingyu breathes in and feels every single muscle in his body loosen with comfort. His hand travels up to find home in Wonwoo’s hair, pulling him in and tightening his hold. 

They have time. Not before, but they do now, and Mingyu revels in the fact. They stayed there as the moon wanes and the night grows deeper, stayed until the fabric of Mingyu’s tunic turns heavy with the weight of Wonwoo’s tears.

When Wonwoo finally lets Mingyu go, the tears are long dry. He doesn’t let go fully. There’s deliberateness in the way Wonwoo keeps his arm around Mingyu’s torso, as though still in need of reassurance that Mingyu is truly here.

“Have you…have you truly forgiven me?” What can only be apprehension causes hesitation as Wonwoo looks down.

The question was expected and Mingyu’s answer has sidled its way to Mingyu without difficulty. He knows how he feels about it now that everything’s over. “I’m not going to act as though I wasn’t wounded by the lie.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Mingyu says without any inflection, detaching his hand from Wonwoo’s hair to instead tangle Wonwoo’s fingers with his own. “I know you have your reasons. It’s not you to let all these innocent lives go. I was as confused as you were at that time, partly because you were a place where I was free to show my emotions and I let them consume me—but I now realise I was never exactly angry at you.”

“You say that so easily, do you not resent me at all?” Wonwoo squeezes their hand together.

“I’m more upset at the fact that you felt the need to hide it from me. That you felt the need to sacrifice your own peace of mind, integrity, and also _yourself._ I’d rather you told me about it than having to find out the way I did _.”_

A look of faint surprise flashes across Wonwoo’s face as he hears those words, before it is replaced by one of regret. “I see. I was more than foolish in my worry over losing both of you.”

“But you made me see another solution than the one I originally planned. One that worked, despite our losses.” 

Wonwoo sighs, eyelids fluttering close, “I should have tried to tell you, shouldn’t I? We could have found out about Jeonghan sooner, get the captain to help us and avoided…well, everything.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Mingyu states, “there’s no use dwelling over the past, so I’ve learned.”

“I…” Wonwoo hesitates, biting his lips before continuing, “you’re almost unbelievable.”

One, single thing Mingyu is sure of is Wonwoo’s own refusal to forgive himself; it’s apparent, if not already obvious in Wonwoo’s nature. And Mingyu is keen on staying with Wonwoo through that and everything it entails, as Wonwoo had unknowingly helped him overcome Mingyu’s own past.

“I do mean everything I said, Wonwoo. I know you’ve been fighting this world alone for so long, but you have me now.” Mingyu moves their entwined hands to right above his heart.

A sharp intake of breath and a battle with the moisture returning to his eyes later, Wonwoo answers Mingyu’s statement with all the sincerity he could muster in such a short amount of time. “Mingyu, you should know all the things I did before this was never a ruse. I made several grave mistakes, but you never were one. You never were one and never will be—”

Knowing their current banter would be nothing but a back and forth clash of words, endless and draining all the same, Mingyu moves to put a brake before they exhaust themselves until the sun has risen. 

Mingyu brings himself closer once more, letting their foreheads touch. For a while, Wonwoo’s suspended in stunned reluctance before easing into it, bringing their noses to touch. Wonwoo’s breath fans over his face, and Mingyu basks in the knowledge that Wonwoo is _with_ him.

“I’m merely glad we’re given this chance to try again.” Mingyu closes his eyes, savouring the places where they’re touching.

The soft grass tickles Mingyu’s neck when he lies down. The stars a mum witness of their exchange.

☽

The air surrounding Sol isn’t quite what Mingyu remembers the last time he went. Sol hasn’t lost its shine, not in the slightest. Streets are filled with throngs of people as they go about their day, everyone seemingly busied with purpose; children running with obliviousness brought with their youth, laughter and bleary notes of a song threatening to spill from their smiles. They didn’t pay much attention to him, aside from a few odd, fascinated glances at him and his steed.

What transpired during the banquet must have not escaped the larger part of the people, but for how significant it was, it hasn’t impacted much of life in Sol.

Managing his way to the royal palace proves to not be much of a problem for Mingyu, as none seems to hold hostility at the sight of him. After getting off Cheonji in the bustling courtyard, the guards quickly pointed him to the great hall, now polished and returned to its original state, telling little of the horrors a week before. The throne is empty; lonely and desolate.

A newly added desk sits just shy of the elevated throne, riddled with scrolls and parchment. Seungcheol looks as though he’s grown several years older manning the desk. His concentration on what must be an important document—judging by the deep frown on his face—is broken when Mingyu clears his throat.

“It seems like I might be intruding. Should I leave, or is my presence here a needed distraction?” He asks, smiling at the immediate relief cascading over Seungcheol’s face.

Seungcheol abandons his work to stand before Mingyu, calling his name under a breath, unsure. “I would hug you, if you’d let me, but it feels like every single time we meet up I end up hugging you—“

The surprised noise Seungcheol makes only pushes Mingyu to hold him a bit closer, wounding his arms tight around the older’s shoulder. He pats Seungcheol’s back a good few times before letting go. “That’s true, but it doesn’t sound like something that would stop you before.”

It takes a while for Seungcheol’s initial surprise to be washed over by delighted laughter. “You’re smiling! And also lost some of the tension too, that can only be a good sign, I hope,” Seungcheol laughs, despite the tiredness evident from the darkened circles under his eyes.

“Well,” Mingyu says, lifting his shoulders, “I just thought after all that happened, you’d prefer it over me being disheartening—at least, that’s what I remember you saying.”

His jest almost passes as one. Almost, Mingyu thinks, if not for the putridness lingering in his mouth at the thought of the harrowing dungeons, heavy air and wet mud encrusted between his fingernails.

One look it must’ve been on his face, for Seungcheol places both his hands on his shoulders, firm and reassuring, and rocks Mingyu back and forth twice for good measure. A tired smile on Seungcheol’s face tells Mingyu that he isn’t too fond of the memory either.

Seungcheol rounds back to the table, smile still following him as he relaxes his shoulders against the seat. “Things take time, but I’m glad you’re alright.”

After attempting to scrutinise the papers on Seungcheol’s polished desk before eventually giving up, Mingyu remains aware of the empty throne, the uncertainty hanging from the strained way Seungcheol’s smile is etched.

The question hangs heavy on his tongue. It’s sure to steer the mood down a heavier path, but he needs to know. Mingyu keeps his voice low, eyes lingering on Seungcheol’s smile. “How have things been?”

Perhaps the sigh tumbling out of Seungcheol’s lips is an indication the necessary question shouldn’t have been asked. But of course, Seungcheol must’ve expected it, somehow.

“It’s been…eventful,” Seungcheol starts, mouth teetering off into a flat line. “Hyuk will no longer be of worry, for a start.”

Though unfamiliar with the kingdom’s laws, Mingyu asks with remorse, “Executed?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Banished. There’s been demands from those who attended the banquet, but I chose not to follow. Refuse to follow them. I believe stripping him from everything he’s ever known is a cruel enough punishment for a man like him, in a more humane way.”

An unknown weight on his chest fades at the news. Mingyu gestures to the lavish seat behind Seungcheol, the question unuttered yet it succeeds in creating tension in the air.

In its entirety, perhaps this shouldn’t be of Mingyu’s concern. Never in his life has he ever meddled in these waters, but he’s indirectly gotten involved in Hyuk’s dethronement, and Seungcheol—who’s taking the brunt of the consequences—is someone he would help without question, if the need ever arises.

The silence slithers around them like murky waters searching for their next victim. Mingyu’s silent with a tinge of confusion on his tongue as an after-taste of his unvoiced question, Seungcheol, now far more tense than before, has a deep unsureness in the ridges of his dimples.

Loud as it is, the door creaking open serves as a wisp of air that blows out the water, and the person emerging from it, a welcomed lifeline to their conversation.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Mingyu doesn’t recognise the man striding towards them, needing a few seconds for the name to unfurl itself in his mind, and when it does settle with bitter unfamiliarity, Mingyu notices how a week of normalcy did him well. The bitterness soon replaces itself with both relief and surprise.

Stopping only a hair’s breadth away from Mingyu, Jeonghan smiles in greeting. “Mingyu, right?”

Mingyu nods and hesitates on how to address the man in front of him. Said man gives a wave of dismissal at the idea of formality, muttering _‘i’ve lost that title long ago’_ with easy nonchalance.

“I’ve come to thank you for everything, Mingyu,” Jeonghan says, “but it seems as though I walked in at the wrong time.” His eyes wander to Seungcheol whose face is now hidden as he stares at the throne behind him. “Is something wrong?”

With a loaded sigh, Seungcheol turns to answer Jeonghan’s question, “No. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Both Mingyu and Jeonghan aren’t convinced by the answer, Mingyu watching the downturn of Jeonghan’s lips grow deeper as he moves to sit at the table near Seungcheol. And under both their stares, Seungcheol caves.

“Fine. I’m afraid of what the throne entails, and what might come in the future.”

Flashes of Mingyu’s previous musings of how Seungcheol would make a great king return to him, and it’s now inching its way to reality—is already a part of reality, he corrects himself, seeing the official letters just strewn about the desk. There’s one single question left in his mind, eyes flitting to Jeonghan once more.

“Aren’t you going to take the throne? Being the eldest prince, and all?” Mingyu’s slow with his words towards Jeonghan, hoping none of them would take this as an affront to Seungcheol, as Mingyu doesn’t mean it in such a way.

Jeonghan licks his lips, purses it before confirming Mingyu’s worry is for naught. “That was our first idea, seeing as I’m here now, and I’m willing to stay until something calls to me to roam the world again.”

“And it should have been the one we went with. I would be better off as your royal advisor,” Seungcheol mutters as a cloud passes through his countenance, dark and it colours him grey, reducing even further the usual confidence he carries around.

“We’ve talked about this.” Mingyu doesn’t miss the repeated patterns Jeonghan draws on the back of Seungcheol’s hand. “Between a thought-to-be-deceased prince and a royal knight who’s only had the people’s best interest in his heart in all the years he’s served, we know which one of us people will trust more. The council thinks so as well.”

Jeonghan’s insistence on staying by Seungcheol’s side as his royal advisor and the oh-so-familiar guilt shading his solemn, determined gaze, prompts another question to leave Mingyu’s lips. “Are you staying here?”

“You see, Mingyu, Hyuk’s near tyranny might just as well be my fault,” Jeonghan answers, arms wound tight around his chest as he stands to lean against Seungcheol’s seat.

Jeonghan left years ago, tells his brother to spread the word of him being taken by a vampire, and Hyuk does. Does so until the news rages like wildfire, consuming the kingdom in grief and animosity.

He left for love—love for Jisoo and also love for his brother. Hyuk has always thirsted for a place, Mingyu learns, forgotten and forsaken by his father, and when Jeonghan gives him one, he doesn’t seem to know when to stop.

“I’m here to upend my mistakes, by staying by his side. Sol’s future king.”

Something forlorn fills the glance Seungcheol throws his way, but Mingyu doesn’t know what he’s asking for. 

Thus he speaks only what he feels, “I don’t think I’m the right person to voice my thoughts about this, but you forever have my support.”

“Thank you,” Seungcheol says with a small smile even when Mingyu’s sure his words don’t make up the answer he was looking for. “Mingyu, all of us are more than grateful for what you’ve done. You don’t have to sit through this mayhem of a situation if it will only bring unnecessary burden for you.”

“I’ll decide that on my own, sire.” Mingyu doesn’t have to ruminate over his answer as he adds the title if only to irk Seungcheol back to ease.

“Don’t call me that.” The slight jump in his tone betrays his previous mood, exasperation clear in his furrowed brows. “It would make everything worse for you to start calling me with titles.”

“I do think it fits you well, Seungcheol, more than it did the one before you.”

“I must agree,” Jeonghan says, feet carrying him towards the throne, fingers tracing the gold. “More than it does me, as well.” 

An agreement seems to present itself before them, dispelling Seungcheol’s wariness with reassuring smiles.

“I’ll try,” he offers.

“We both will,” Jeonghan reciprocates.

And Mingyu, amidst it all, sees glimmers of hope for Sol. Though they know things wouldn’t be easy going forth, they let the tension relieve itself, let their fates unfurl on their own with the passage of time. Things take time. And they will let it take time.

“Oh, I almost forgot to ask you.” Seungcheol stops him just short of the door of the great hall, halting their goodbyes.

Mingyu raises his brow, not expecting anything to be asked from him. “What is it?”

“How is Wonwoo? I’d be more than happy if he’d be willing to attend the coronation, but if you remember, I still have some things to settle with him.”

When he remembers Seungcheol’s words up in the tower, when his tears were still heavy and wounds too green to face, he stills.

“You can’t really be thinking of hitting him.” 

It is Jeonghan’s laughter, clear and sharp around the edges, that breaches the bubble of suspense the both of them had unknowingly created. His hand covers his still upturned mouth. “You have the most absurd ideas.”

The thought of Seungcheol, weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, leaden crown on his head, bounding up to Wonwoo for a petty cause of revenge for his friend replays in his mind. It is more hilarious than it is concerning. Seungcheol could try, anyway, but doubts of him landing an actual hit is larger than anyone’s belief that he could. If not for Wonwoo’s feline-like capability of evading, then it’s Mingyu’s reluctance to see any form of harm come Wonwoo’s way that would fail him. And it’s clear the older is thinking his thoughts.

Both Seungcheol’s expectation and amusement at the thought bleeds through his smile. “I better see both of you then, and I have no room for trivial excuses.”

“You have my word,” Mingyu says, hand going to the door only to stop again.

The second one stopping him from leaving is Jeonghan with his near-trembling grip on his wrist. This time, Mingyu prods softly with his eyes, knowing what Jeonghan keeps is more delicate than Seungcheol’s.

“Speaking of Wonwoo…if he would like to meet Jisoo, he should come to the palace soon,” Jeonghan says, fingers tapping on Mingyu’s vein. 

Eyes flittering over the hall on their own, Mingyu grows wary of the implication. “Is he here?”

Jeonghan nods. “He’s down in the dungeons.”

At the surprise and question on Mingyu’s face, Jeonghan smiles again.

“It’s not what you’re thinking. We decided on our own. He felt like he deserves it and I’m not one to deny his crimes.”

“All right.” Mingyu’s lips come together in a solemn nod. “We’ll be sending word to you soon.”

Mingyu lets the doors close on their own, both silent and hopeful in his leave back home. A scene of rustle and bustle greets him without pause, and after his conversation with both Jeonghan and Seungcheol, all the fuss in the courtyard comes into perspective.

The coronation of the new king is to be a couple days away. Mingyu’s never seen Sol not preparing for a celebration, and even now the people are eager for prospects of a better future. It’s a good thing for them to always be in such vibrant moods, Mingyu muses. They make the kingdom, being dispirited may be a cause of concern.

As he makes his way to Cheonji, avoiding any mishaps and crashes the best he can, a voice pierces through the air, calling him.

“Mr. hunter!”

Familiarity has Mingyu whipping his head to search for the source and he’s greeted by a bright smile on an equally stellar face. Mingyu can’t pinpoint what is causing the tug of joy in his heart: Chan braving himself to call him, or Chan’s own joy, contagious.

There’s a group of people clad in a myriad of colours behind him, the fabric and glitter of their clothes bold amidst daylight. The crimson sash, golden belt, and grand earrings almost drowns Chan and if not for the gold-cladded hand on his shoulder, Mingyu would have had a hard time making out the shape of his form.

“Chan,” Mingyu greets, giving a nod to the older man besides him. “Please, Mingyu is fine.”

Chan greets him again, acquainting Mingyu’s name on his tongue with a cheer. “I was afraid of you, but I realised I was being prejudiced. My gratitude won’t cover it in the slightest but thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Mingyu replies and he means it.

“That isn’t true at all, everyone knows you saved us from the vampire.” Lips bitten, hesitant on continuing his sentence, Chan swallows. “And also from the previous king...Hyuk.”

It must’ve been something he missed. A string of stories hidden in the coils of people’s words, in the lack of harsh whispers and the awed glances he received on the way here. Mingyu gapes, words of denial stuck on the base of his throat because they are not true, would simply be nothing but deluded thoughts.

“So you’re the hero people’s been talking about!” The man pipes in, two rows of perfect teeth glinting in the sunlight. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Soonyoung, head of the infamous Karrea dance troupe.”

Instead of a useless attempt at denying any of their words, Mingyu accepts both their exuberance, their words burning on his skin. 

“Are you here for the coronation?”

“Fate is a funny thing, I tell you,” Soonyoung laughs despite a lack of reason, patting Chan’s shoulder a few times. “We were asked to attend the banquet, but a vampire problem and a saving from a fancy hunter with a golden feather later, we found out we were a couple of days late! Good thing, though, we could’ve been dead if we arrived on time. Or worse, we would never have found such a talented addition otherwise.”

Taking in Soonyoung’s amiable story one word at a time, figuring out how not finding a new member could possibly be worse than dying, Mingyu affords a small, “I see. It must have been one perilous journey.”

He isn’t used to the world bending around to meet him in the middle, in between pleasant conversations. Not to say it’s a horrid change—it is not.

Chan’s grin grows when Mingyu’s gaze landed on him. The urge bests him before Mingyu could contain it, but his speckle of reluctance is extinguished by Chan’s small laughter as he continues ruffling the younger’s hair. Mingyu congratulates him, tells Chan he’s happy for him.

“This is more than I can dream of,” Chan beams, “I can travel the continent doing what I love, with people I admire.”

With a small wave in response to their bigger, bolder ones, Mingyu bids Chan and Soonyoung farewell, hops unto his horse and motions her down the entrance of the palace. Rhythmic steps of Cheonji’s trot beats into his mind. He rubs patterns on her side often during the ride, thoughts following suit; repeated, tangible and truthful.

The world has no business slowing down and being kinder to anyone. But perhaps, with the right person, braving it wouldn’t be half as daunting as it would be facing it alone.

☽

“You don’t have to do this,” Mingyu whispers to the crown of Wonwoo’s head.

Jeonghan stands a couple paces away, allowing them privacy for this hushed exchange. Stone walls depriving them of sunlight surrounds them. Admittedly, this dungeon is far better than the one Mingyu’s thrown in, floor made of stone instead of rough dirt, smell almost nonexistent. But Mingyu isn’t here to compare their miseries.

In this spacious room just before the hallways wind down, turning long and dark to lead towards the cells, the three of them stop. Despite his neutral appearance, Wonwoo asks for a brief moment of reprieve. He worms his way towards Mingyu, wordless, eyes searching for a home and Mingyu proffers his heartbeat.

“I don’t have to, but I want to. We both need this,” Wonwoo says.

It’s more of a reassurance for himself than it is for Mingyu.

Wonwoo wears his heart on his chest this time, vulnerable and devoid of masks, and electricity crackles in a soft buzz around him; a gentle yet notable strength. The lines on his face presents a driven resolve as he detaches himself. He breathes in a long breath, lets his hand linger over Mingyu’s for a second, before nodding towards Jeonghan, who leads them down to where Jisoo resides.

There’s a bench in front of Jisoo’s cell, the guard sitting on it saluting Jeonghan before excusing himself out of the picture. He looks no less than glad to be relieved of his duty.

Possibilities fill Mingyu’s head before, but Jisoo looks nothing like the worst of images his mind had provided. The elevated bed supports his whole weight, his conjoint hands carries a sense of peace and sereneness from his form, closed eyes not riddled with hard lines. Jisoo hears them coming, but only rises to meet Jeonghan at the barred gate, hands latching to the prince’s. 

Trimmed hair and smiles adorn Jisoo better than rage. He isn’t so much a villain as he is a noble vampire, driven to his very limits within moments of weakness.

“I still have a lot of things to prepare. I’ll see you both upstairs.” With those parting words, Jeonghan leaves, not before a squeeze to Jisoo’s hand.

For a minute, the sole object filling the space between them is Jisoo’s stare, regret and sadness undulating in soft waves over them. The whir of his thoughts is almost audible. Words don’t come easy, not when there’s so much at stake, so much to relay and also keep. So many years to go over.

“Jisoo,” Wonwoo says, sitting down to allow steadiness in his words.

To perhaps both their surprises, it’s Jisoo who speaks next, letting the indiscernible feelings attempt to make their way out. He keeps a small smile as he talks, looking disheartened.

“It’s almost curiously funny isn’t it? All these years we’ve been apart, and we’re brought back together in the most awful way possible,” Jisoo says, cadence a steady rock in the waves.

A hesitant laugh falls from Wonwoo’s lips, fills the gaps Jisoo’s words provide. His breath quavers. “It is, but I’ve learned to not ponder about why things fall in such ways, lest I start a winding journey I wouldn’t get answers from.”

Hands splayed on the small of Wonwoo’s back, fingers thrumming a gentle beat against Wonwoo’s coat, Mingyu isn’t sure if it’s the grief lacing both their words or the weight lodged in his own chest that incites his seek for the contact. Perhaps it’s both of those, though it isn’t important. He shouldn’t be intruding on their conversation.

“I merely—” Jisoo sighs, hands tight around the metal “—I merely wish we didn’t have to go through this.”

“We all share the same thought, Jisoo,” comes from Wonwoo in a wistful sigh, and Mingyu’s heart lurches.

“I’m sorry, Wonwoo. For everything I said to you, for the harm that came your way, for _hurting_ you.”

Mingyu knows he shouldn’t be here, the burn of guilt on the back of his ears eating up his initial intent on accompanying Wonwoo. Before a coherent will forms, his legs carried him away first. Missing the tensing of Wonwoo’s shoulders, the minuscule curl of his back as his hand leaves him, Mingyu is walking when Jisoo stops him.

“And you too, Mingyu, I’m sorry.”

The words chain heavy on his back and Mingyu stops to face Jisoo’s defeated scarlet, a tug in his heart compelling him to stay. A part of him surmises Jisoo wants him to hear his next words.

“No one can ever forgive me, and nothing could ever change the things I’ve done. To you both. To everyone. I know it’s incredibly selfish of me, but would you two be willing to hold a favour for me?” Jisoo asks, troubled plea coalescing the shape of his question.

Mingyu glances sideways to meet Wonwoo’s stare, inquiry mute between them. Their resolve concurred in a confirming nod before they appraise Jisoo again. Neither acceptance nor refusal forms Mingyu’s and Wonwoo’s response, mere impartial understanding guiding them.

“What is it?”

The dull thump of Jisoo’s head hitting the metal bars indicates the unselfish nature of his request first. Purpose indicates it second, blazing bright in the corners of his lips as he holds his gaze steady.

“The past is behind us, but I still can grasp my own future. One where I’ll do good, do better.” Jisoo extends both his hands beyond the bars, an invitation. “I know it would never absolve the horror I cause. But I have a lifetime to atone, and it should be enough. It has to be.”

Wonwoo’s hand lands first on Jisoo’s extended one, clasping together, before Mingyu follows, stopping only once to peer at Jisoo, noting he’s as truthful as he could be.

“I need both of you to remind me of that. When enough might not seem to be enough,” he says, and he holds their hands close, not allowing himself to waver.

Knowledge of them being able to assist Jisoo due to their ability to live infinite lifetimes longer than any other person has Mingyu tightening his hold on Jisoo’s, intent on helping. He lets go, remembering his own start of something new. It does not have to mean overlooking everything else. He can start anew for himself, and for Wonwoo, and also for people he might meet—would inevitably meet—along the way.

Though he is sure Wonwoo has no qualms in helping an old friend, his hand remains still. Wonwoo has more to convey, words on pages of a book he long abandoned. 

Mingyu doesn’t have a part to play in between the unsung words and so, Mingyu says goodbye. A promise kept in his heart. Their words fade as Mingyu carries the soft press of Wonwoo’s lips against his knuckles with him up the stairs and back into the palace.

☽

If Minghao and Jun’s wedding is to be anywhere near this lavish and extravagant, Mingyu would have second thoughts on attending. The thought banishes itself, though, as he realises with amusement how a simple wedding would never begin to compare to the crowning of a new king.

The whole city seems to sing with spirits soaring high and gallant. Streets filled with banners, smiles and excitement accompanying each hurried conversation, best clothing glinting under the sun, adorned by everyone to celebrate the blessed day. Not everyone gets the privilege to witness the coronation, but Sol is celebrating in spirit if not in physical attendance.

Comparing this to the banquet shouldn’t be his first line of thought, but he does so, anyway. There’s no use in suppressing it if it would only be for it to come back and haunt him in the near future. Bits and flashes of images without any bouts of animosity allows Mingyu the comparison.

Mingyu acknowledges they’re similar in nature, but there’s no constriction on his chest, no creeping ghosts of burden latching on his back. Festal joy surges through his veins as he traverses the city instead of caution and anxiety. The atmosphere makes it effortless to join in on the delight of new promises and today holds far more meaning than Hyuk’s miserable attempt at ensuring power.

And perhaps his most selfish cause for joy is none other Wonwoo, walking beside him with an unabashed smile as he watches the ensuing drinking contest in the town square, hands tucked hidden in Mingyu’s own. For someone who’s been living in the outskirts of the town for years, Wonwoo’s as much a stranger as Mingyu when it comes to Sol. Something forlorn crams its way up in Mingyu at the thought of Wonwoo not being able to ever truly live in the town, even now, they’re moving about in the sides, avoiding curious eyes.

It took a few days of coaxing for Wonwoo to agree on not hiding away during Seungcheol’s coronation. An amusing feat as it was, assuring Wonwoo no punches would come from Seungcheol is something he wouldn’t want to go through again. Mingyu eases Wonwoo’s worries with pointed looks, peppers of touches across the planes of his skin and sincere reassurances in between.

The first part of the service will house half the kingdom’s official in the courtyard, witnesses to Seungcheol being bestowed with Sol’s regalia; the royal robe, sceptre, and, of course, the crown. Mingyu steals a glance towards the sun to ensure they’re not late; they aren’t, but barely.

Both of them should have figured out the entrance of the palace would be filled to the brim—and it is, not a possibility of entering in sight.

“We could go over the walls,” Wonwoo suggests, leading Mingyu away from the crowd.

“That would cause a commotion,” Mingyu says, peering up at the palace walls. “Only you could do so without drawing any attention.”

A pensive look settles over Wonwoo’s face, lines deep. “I wonder how far your genetics go. In theory, you should have some abilities other than immortality and healing.”

“I’ve spent my whole life denying that part of me, I wouldn’t know. And now is not the time to start theorising. We need to get inside, or Seungcheol would most likely have both our heads.”

Mingyu’s about to return to the throng of people when Wonwoo captures his wrist, tugs him to scour the lengths of the wall, and stops when they find a deserted alley.

“Have you ever tried?” He supplies at Mingyu’s inquisitive look.

“Vaporising?” Mingyu asks, incredulous. He shakes his head, thinks of the times he thought of trying but stopping at how impossible the notion feels like. “No, I never did.” 

Wonwoo stretches his hand forward, an invitation for Mingyu. “I’m connected to you, a part of you flows within me. It might be worth a try.”

His heart picks up a few paces, both in anticipation and at the nonchalance with which Wonwoo mentions how Mingyu is a part of him. As Wonwoo is a part of him, albeit in a different way.

Calloused hand over Wonwoo’s, Mingyu braces himself for the unknown awaiting him, sidling closer to Wonwoo.

It starts slow, languid, a tide of magic washing over him before pooling on his feet. The touch of Wonwoo’s hand is his sole anchor as the magic surges up, fills up a cup Mingyu never knew he had, and disperses. The last thing he sees before smoke clouds his vision is Wonwoo’s calming smile.

Mingyu finds himself adrift, feeling scattered about as winds pass through him. It’s a foreignness that sets blares of warnings inside Mingyu. Feelings of being disjointed and moving melds, and Mingyu has a hard time grasping the feeling—it’s akin to dissolving into the sea to become a part of it, free to travel the expanses as long as you’re one with the waters. 

He blearily sees the wall disappear below them, obscured by flares of shadows. When the light of the sun returns to him, they were under the shade of the courtyard’s cloister, the backs of luxurious robes greeting them instead of the exterior stone walls of the palace. No one noticed their sudden appearance, much to Mingyu’s relief. All of them are preoccupied by the start of a march down in the centre.

Mingyu and Wonwoo are right on time. The knowledge doesn’t stop the heightened thrum of his heart, however, both thrill and confusion making him spin in place. His arm loops around Wonwoo more to steady the swaying of his feet.

“What was…How was that possible?”

“Now’s not the time to ask questions,” Wonwoo shushes him, perhaps in retaliation to Mingyu’s dismissal earlier. “It’s starting.”

His mind scrambles to form words for his irritation, but the blaring sound of trumpets halted his attempt. The amount of people in front of them proof to not be a problem, the view of Seungcheol coming to kneel in front of the coronation chair right in the middle of the courtyard as clear as day for them. 

Seungcheol lowers himself in nothing but trousers and a white blouse, eyes closed, face unconstrained by his previous troubles. As the heavy royal robe—colour resembling that of a setting sun—settles around his figure, his eyes fluttered open. The chatter diminishes into complete silence when Seungcheol writes the first words of his oath into the open air. His voice bathes the courtyard with assurance equal to that of the moon setting in the West to bestow a new dawn upon the lands. With the warmth of the first lights of day at his disposal, Seungcheol binds himself to the kingdom, a sworn protector of the people.

The oath ends to give way for the crowning, Seungcheol sitting on the elevated chair with a composure Mingyu’s never seen before. He handles the royal sceptre with grace. The diamond sitting atop the burnt gold shaft doesn’t shy away from the sun, sends refracted light amongst the crowd, iridescent against their bathed breaths.

And today’s pinnacle arrives in a flurry of racing heartbeats, hundreds beating in tandem as the scene unfolds.

“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you, Choi Seungcheol, King of Sol.”

Seungcheol dips his head, allowing an easy angle for his crowning. The jewelled band of gold fits snug around his head and a flood of rising goosebumps crashes over Mingyu. It doesn’t defeat the insurmountable ringing of pride as the trumpets sound once more.

Cheers and shouts of erupts all throughout the courtyard, soon followed by those awaiting outside. Seungcheol then finishes the coronation by walking towards his throne in the great hall where the people are allowed to pay homage to him.

Mingyu stays in the cloister, hands now snug on Wonwoo’s waist instead of his arm—he must have done it without realising.

Seungcheol does, with affable energy, try to greet Wonwoo in an embrace. What he does not try is hit him—but Wonwoo dissolves into a bill of smoke anyway, reappearing a safe distance away. The king’s antechamber isn’t the most spacious space in existence, and it doesn’t take long for Seungcheol to clear his intentions, pulling Wonwoo in.

A string of soft apologies tumbles out of Wonwoo’s lips for both royalties in the room.

“I understand where you’re coming from and though things could’ve been better, you helped us in the end. Thank you,” Seungcheol says.

“Never be a stranger, Wonwoo,” Jeonghan completes.

Mingyu lets the upward pull of his lips stay, conversation and laughter floating between them until time bids them farewell.

☽

Mingyu’s mind wanders off to the future one night.

His hand draws lazy patterns on Wonwoo's skin, traces over his side and shoulder, stopping over where he remembers the injuries were. Not a hint of that night remains, and Mingyu is grateful. 

Rest finds him effortlessly, and Mingyu doesn’t drive it away like he did in the past. Even as the world keeps revolving, it’s fine to just simply _be_ and for a while, Mingyu allows himself to feel at home and alive with Wonwoo.

It’s a significant change going forward; both of them had spent years without anyone to rely on, to share burdens with, and to call it a dilemma would be an understatement.

They recognise it’s only the beginning of something perennial, a long journey towards an unknown, yet better destination. The matter of how they’ll move forward is a concern for another day, Mingyu thinks.

He steals a glance at Wonwoo’s face, and reassures himself that they will be fine. Mingyu closes his eyes, lets the repeated motion of his hand and the weight of Wonwoo against him drift him off to slumber.

The start of a new week has them engaged in a hushed conversation beneath the full moon. Mingyu relays to Wonwoo how he couldn’t abandon his duty, how the world is still the same, how it feels wrong to stay placid when it’s in his capabilities to aid people in need. He assures Wonwoo it wasn’t because of him. 

“I want to help,” comes from his own volition and not anyone else’s.

“I understand,” Wonwoo says, but there’s something else there. Reluctance. “It’s your decision, and I am no one to keep you to myself.”

“You say that like I’d never return.” Mingyu shakes his head, tidies his things in Cheonji’s saddle.

Wonwoo’s finger slotting in between his stops the menial task. “I say that because I know we will find each other again.”

“You’re the first home I know, of course I would return to you.”

Wonwoo pulls him, hand abandoning Mingyu’s to circle around him instead. It tells Mingyu enough of Wonwoo’s fear. 

“Neither of us do well with promises,” Wonwoo hums onto his shoulder, “but is that a promise?”

Returning Wonwoo’s embrace with one of his own, Mingyu answers without a pause, “Always.”

The last of his fire flickers before burning out completely, leaving Mingyu with nothing but embers and the remaining vestiges of heat. He looks up to see dawn not too far away and doesn’t worry.

Crow perches on Cheonji’s saddle, watchful eyes giving Mingyu a sense of security amongst the gnarled trees. Her presence soothes his frayed nerves and knowing Wonwoo’s watching over him reduces some of his qualms.

They aren’t completely apart, yet denying the hollowness in his chest proves to be a strain on his heart. It isn’t less lonely. 

A part of him has considered backtracking one day worth of distance, but he dismisses the idea. If he had let Wonwoo help him with dispersing into smoke despite his worries, then perhaps he would have went back.

“Isn’t it a bit cold?” He throws the question at Crow, who does nothing but caw in response.

She doesn’t approach Mingyu for another temporary blood pack, and Mingyu doesn’t pry. The first time wasn’t exactly pleasant and he’s not eager to relive it. Even if it means not hearing from Wonwoo.

He’s poking the burnt wood of his fire to search for trapped heat when he hears it.

His heartbeat slows as he jumps into a poised stance to creep towards the growing rustles of the forest floor. He treads forward with caution, footsteps silent with practice. When Crow takes off with frenzied caws, Mingyu lunges.

There’s an impact, a surprised noise and a thud as they fall on the ground. The assailant remains unmoving under Mingyu’s iron grip on both their arms.

“Is this how it was for you when we first met?” A small, strained voice asks from beneath Mingyu.

Both his clouded thoughts and instinct produces a dangerous imprudence. It takes a second for Mingyu to recognise the person he’s pinned down. It takes him even longer to release his grip, moving both his arms beside his head.

“Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo’s smile is unmistakable even under Mingyu’s shadow. “I’m here.”

“What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo rests both his hands on either side of Mingyu’s face, as if asking him to come closer. But Mingyu doesn’t have to move. There isn’t a moment of hesitation from Wonwoo when he pulls Mingyu down.

The soft pressure against his lips answers Mingyu’s question for him. But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it parts from him before he can decipher it.

“Both you and I have never failed to break promises before.” Haze clouds Wonwoo’s eyes as he speaks. “And home does not feel like home anymore. Not in Sol, not when you’re not there.”

His heart soars with the beginning of tears gathering on the corner of his eyes. There’s heat on his chest, spreading all around but never dissipating. It stays and grows, blooms into a question.

“So you’ll travel with me?” It’s a frivolous thing to ask, Mingyu knows, for he already knows the answer. 

“You’ve also been facing the world alone for years. But you also have me now.”

Mingyu leans down, chases the unneeded answer from Wonwoo’s lips with his own. Wonwoo’s hand brushes against the back of his neck, and Mingyu lets his eyes fall shut. 

The kiss lays their story before them; the uncertainty of their past, the gentle words of their present, and the sweet promises of their future. 

It’s a place of respite, a home. And it turns into something infinitely more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, OH wow has it been a journey. I have a lot of things to say, I'll try to make this (half) coherent.  
> _______________
> 
> \- First and foremost, I would like to thank everyone for reading and giving this fic love; your kudos, bookmarks and comments mean so much to me. I never really expected this to get any attention since this is an experiment more than anything. I'm more than grateful you've decided to join me on this journey. Thank you ♥
> 
> \- The thing that blocked me this chapter was mostly the topic of forgiveness and redemption. I feel like there are a lot of ways to approach the subject and well, it's hard to figure out something that feels organic. This chapter feels more like a new beginning rather than an ending, and I like that, their stories don't end here and they have a lot of living left to do.
> 
> \- I've undoubtedly grown attached to this story, even though it really didn't come out the way I wanted it to (re: an epic fantasy saga but aha maybe I'm not ready for that). I admit, perhaps my planning for this isn't the best, but it is a Piece and it's completed and I'm proud of it. I also know this isn't your typical vampire au, and if you clicked on this expecting vampire sexy times but stayed to read *vaguely gestures* all of this, thank you. Thank you for giving these characters and world a chance, really.
> 
> \- I will probably return to this universe. Whether it be for a Jihancheol sequel, a Junhao spin-off, or even rewriting this fic when I'm up to it. I feel as though there's a lot, and I mean a lot, to improve on.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading!! I have a couple fics in the works that hopefully I can share soon. In the meantime, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/9yuwoo) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/woncarnation)
> 
> Would love to hear from you guys in any way, shape, or form!


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